


Undertow

by Mhalachai



Series: Blood In The Water [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Family Secrets, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Русалка | нимфа | nimfa | Rusalka (Slavic Mythology & Folklore)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9344666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov has spent his entire life pretending to be normal.It's never enough.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Act I, Part I: **Content Warning** : The first part of this story references child abuse and the attempted murder of a child; this may be disturbing for some readers.
> 
> Act I, Part II: Set the month before [Water's Edge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9149977).
> 
> ( _an important note from the previous installment: Viktor's mother is a rusalka: in Slavic folklore, a rusalka lives in lakes or rivers and seduces men, usually to their doom._ )

* * *

_**Act I, Part I** _

* * *

When Viktor Nikiforov was three years old, his grandmother tried to drown him in the Neva River.

It was a school day, but after his father left for the university, his grandmother did not take Viktor to his kindergarten like usual. Viktor did not care; he did not like the other children. He liked to stay in his bedroom with his books.

Books were Viktor's third most favourite thing in the world. His second favourite thing was ice skating; his ice skates had a place of honour on his bedroom floor, right next to his little bed. He loved ice skating so much, it was second only to being in the water with his mother.

He wasn't sure he loved his mother, but he did love the water.

On the day when his grandmother kept him at home, Viktor stayed in his bedroom with his books, to keep out of his grandmother's way. Viktor's grandmother did not like him, and he did not like her. When Viktor's father was not around, she would tell Viktor what a monster he was, how evil, how abnormal, how he had ruined his father's life. She also liked to beat Viktor, so he tried to avoid her.

Viktor read his books over and over again. His stomach was sore with hunger, but he knew there would be no point in asking his grandmother for food. She only fed him when his father was home.

With a sigh, Viktor closed his last book and lay down on his bed. He liked to read stories of other children. He did not understand the other children he knew, how they behaved and acted. He liked books because the books told him how other people acted. One day, Viktor vowed, he would act like other people, normal people, and then his grandmother wouldn't hit him as much.

His bedroom door opened, and Viktor scrambled to his feet. His grandmother stood in the doorway. Viktor waited, tense, in case she had come in here to beat him again. Viktor could hear her heart beating rapidly in her chest, a fast _wush-wush_ - _wush_ on the air _._

"Put on your shoes," she said. "We are going for a drive."

Viktor waited, to see if she was going to hit him. She usually did.

"Do not stand there like the idiot you are," she said. "Shoes, now!"

Viktor ran to get his shoes.

The drive was long. Viktor did not usually get to drive in the car; his father took him anywhere they needed on the subway. Viktor did not like the subway. It was too far down and all that ground over his head made him feel dizzy. But he liked spending time with his father when his grandmother wasn't there.

Now, Viktor sat in the back seat of the car and looked out the windows. There were many buildings in St. Petersburg, and many cars. Soon, there were fewer buildings, and then after that, only trees and fields.

Viktor looked around with interest. He had never been in such a place. Whenever he saw his mother, she was in the lake with the forest all around her. Not like this.

All through the drive, his grandmother said nothing to him. This was fine with Viktor. If she wasn't speaking to him, she usually didn't hit him.

After a very long time, the car left the road and stopped. His grandmother got out and closed the door behind her. Viktor didn't move. He knew that if he tried to get out of the car, his grandmother would beat him. He did not want to be beaten.

The trunk opened, then closed. Viktor waited some more. It was very quiet in the car, not like in the city. Viktor couldn't even hear another car.

The door opened. "Get out," said his grandmother.

Viktor got out.

"Follow me."

Viktor followed his grandmother along the faint path in the grass. It was a very nice day. There was sunshine, and birds, and insects all around. Viktor wanted to go run and explore, but he stayed behind his grandmother.

They walked for a few minutes until they reached a break in the trees, and Viktor couldn't contain his gasp of delight. They were at the water! It was not the lake where his mother lived, nor the sea of St. Petersburg, but it was a lovely large river!

At the sound, Viktor's grandmother turned around to slap his cheek, and he wasn't far enough away to duck the blow. It stung, but he didn't make a sound. When he made noise, it made her angry, and she would hit him more.

She took hold of his shirt and hauled him along, too fast for him to keep up. He stumbled along the path at her side, falling more than once, but she just pulled him back up again. They finally stopped at a space on the riverbank hidden by several large trees. There was a little picnic table and a bench. Viktor's grandmother let go of his shirt and he dropped to the sand, interested to see what it felt like. It was very different than the sand of his mother's lake; more like dirt. Unimpressed, Viktor stood up.

"Vitya," called his grandmother. "Come and eat lunch."

Viktor edged closer to the table, close enough that he could hear her heart beating. From her satchel, his grandmother was pulling sandwiches out of a cloth bag. Viktor's stomach cramped with hunger, but he did not run to take the food. He had been beaten too many times to make that mistake now.

"Vitya," said his grandmother again. "Come here."

Slowly, Viktor approached the table. There were other things on the table too, besides the sandwiches. There was a small carton of milk, and a big red apple.

Viktor's mouth watered. He _loved_ apples.

Cautiously, he sat on the bench. He waited until his grandmother put a sandwich and the milk in front of him before reaching out. He didn't really want either; bread tasted like the paper of old books, and milk made him feel sick, but he did want that apple. Maybe if he ate all his food and didn't make a sound, he could have the apple.

His grandmother continued to take things out of the satchel. As he chewed his old-paper sandwich, Viktor wondered why she needed a hatchet, or the small bottle of kerosene. Were they going to have a fire? Viktor hoped not. He did not like the smell of burning wood.

Viktor ate and drank in silence, looking at the hatchet and kerosene. He wondered if the children at his school were listening to their teacher read from a book, and he was sad. He liked it when his teacher read from a book. He got to hear new words, and learn new ways of how normal people behaved.

He liked to think that if he learned enough ways to be normal, his grandmother would stop hitting him.

He finished the sandwich, and drank the last of the milk. His fingers itched for the apple. It was so perfect, gleaming red under the sun. Viktor loved the colour red the most of all the colours in the world. When he was in the lake with his mother, nothing was red. When he was home with his father, everything was drab, brown and green and orange. Even the bruises he sometimes got under his clothes from where his grandmother hit him were never red, only purple and green and black.

Red was the best colour, and this apple was _so red_.

"Vitya."

Viktor tore his gaze away from the apple to look at his grandmother.

She stood up. She was very white in her face. "Vitya, come with me."

Viktor went with her to the edge of the river.

"Take off your shoes."

Viktor took off his shoes and socks, and put them neatly together on the grass.

"Take off your trousers."

Viktor took off his trousers and put them by his shoes. The air by the river was cold, and Viktor stood only in his underpants and his thin shirt, but he did not mind. It was colder than this in his mother's lake in the middle of the summer.

"Come with me."

Viktor walked into the river with his grandmother. The water here was fast and clear, the current almost loud enough to drown out his grandmother's heartbeat, and Viktor thought that it would be a very nice place indeed for a swim.

Viktor wished his father were there.

"Deeper," said his grandmother.

Viktor stepped carefully into the river, until the water was over his knees, his hips. His grandmother only stopped when the water was up to Viktor's chin. The water flowing over his skin was cold and fast, and Viktor could feel every part of his body going free and light, just like it did at the lake.

Suddenly, his grandmother's hand came down on Viktor's head, pushing him underwater. He didn't like this and he tried to get away, but she had her fingers tight in his hair, holding him down, holding him under the water.

Angry and scared, Viktor screamed all the air out of his body.

Then he breathed in the water of the river.

The sudden pain in his lungs stabbed through his body, gone in an instant. He breathed the clean cold water of the river as he looked around, the water a soft melody in his ears as he went still. When he fought back against his grandmother, she only beat him harder. Maybe if he was quiet now, she would let him go.

He could see her legs in the water, standing on the river bottom beside him. She was still holding his hair; was she trying to decide if she was going to beat him? Viktor breathed in the water and waited and did not move.

After many minutes, she let him go.

Quick as a flash, Viktor dove for the river's bed, curving steeply away from the bank. At home, he tried to escape his grandmother by getting far away from her, and now his body did the same thing without any input from his brain. He wanted to go far, far away.

The river was very different from his mother's lake; there was a strong current here, pulling Viktor along, and it was so much easier to just swim with the current. He didn't dare go too deep; he couldn't see in the dark waters as well as his mother could, and he didn't know if the river held any of the big scary fish he had seen on the lake's bottom.

So Viktor swam along with the river current, breathing the cool river water deep into his chest and feeling almost content for the first time in a very long time. The water pressed in on his body, filled his lungs with its reassuring weight, and he moved so fast in the current it was like he was flying.

Something overhead cast a shadow on the river's bottom. Viktor rolled over to see a large boat overhead. Maybe there were people on that boat. Maybe they would see him. Not sure if that was what he wanted, Viktor kicked as fast as he could. Soon the boat was out of sight.

As he swam, Viktor wondered what he was going to do. His grandmother would beat him so hard, he knew, for swimming away from her. Maybe he could swim all the way to the sea, and meet sea monsters, and live with them. But sea monsters probably did not have any fun stories, and there were no apples in the sea. And his father would not be there.

Viktor missed his father.

He would go back to the land, he decided, and he would do what he had been told to do in school. He would find a policeman, and tell that policeman his name, and the policeman would take him home.

Sasha at school had said that policemen took bad children and put them in the gulag, a bad prison far away from home, but Viktor did not believe that. His father was at university studying history, and he had told Viktor that no one went to the gulags any more.

Slowly, watching for boats like his mother had shown him, Viktor swam to the surface.

There were buildings on the riverbank. Maybe there would be a policeman there.

Viktor ducked back underwater. It was easier to swim underwater; none of that flailing with arms and hands like Viktor had seen people swimming on television.

Too soon, the river's bottom came up to the surface. Viktor put his feet down, feeling the sun's warmth right under the surface. Taking one last breath of water, he stood up.

His legs felt wobbly as he walked out of the river. The air here was loud with the sounds of machinery, and Viktor could see people moving about. Someone started to shout, then more shouting. Viktor wobbled up to a spot just above the water line before falling over. The water was pressing on his lungs, heavy now in the open air, and Viktor knew what he had to do.

Viktor heaved all the water in his lungs out onto the riverbank, then gasped in air. The cold slap of the empty air in his lung made him cry out, even as he fell forward to cough out the last of the water.

But Viktor Nikiforov was three years old, nearly a man, and nothing would make him cry.

The shouting was growing closer. Big hands seized him and pulled him upright. It took Viktor a moment of blinking in the scalding sunlight to see the men, big men with big faces, all making so much noise.

Viktor had never seen these men before, so he was not afraid of them.

"Are you hurt?" one man asked.

"Why were you in the river?" asked another.

"Who are you?" asked the one holding Viktor up.

Viktor coughed, water flowing out of his mouth.

One of the men shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Viktor, the sudden warmth almost like a sauna. Viktor gasped at the heat.

"Boy," said one man, taking his chin in large fingers. "Oh, boy, what happened?"

Viktor took a deep breath, the pain of the air searing through his body. "My name is Viktor Alekseyevich Nikiforov," he said. His voice always sounded strange to him, too high, too thin. "I was with my grandmother and then I went into the river."

The next few hours were very full. The men took Viktor to their factory, wrapped him in blankets, and gave him hot tea, which he liked, and bread, which he did not. More men came, then a policeman, then more policemen. Viktor had to tell them his name many times, and the street where he lived, and how old he was.

One of the factory men brought a clean shirt for Viktor to wear. It was a man's shirt, falling past Viktor's knees, but it meant Viktor could take off his wet underpants and his wet shirt. If he had to be on the land, it was good to be dry.

"Thank you very much," Viktor said politely, because his father had told him how important it was to be polite to people you did not know, in case they turned out to be magical creatures. Magical creatures would help you if you were nice to them, like Viktor's very own mother.

The man, far from appreciating Viktor's manners, looked so sad that Viktor wondered if he was about to be slapped. But the man just patted Viktor's shoulder and wished him well.

The policemen drove back into town with Viktor in the backseat, still wrapped in blankets. The one policeman beside Viktor talked to him the whole time, asking about what Viktor did at school, and did he like to play games. Viktor said that he very much liked to ice skate, and that he had his very own ice skates, and he was so good that he could skate backwards!

He liked the policeman. His heartbeat sounded kind.

When they got to Viktor's apartment building, the policeman carried him upstairs, blanket and all. The hallway was hushed, the door to their apartment open. As they grew closer to the door, Viktor was nervous. Would his grandmother be there? Would she be very angry that he had swum away from her?

The other policemen went in first, then Viktor's policeman. Viktor heard a few words as his policeman crossed the threshold, and there was his father, jumping up from the kitchen table.

"Vitya!" his father shouted, and Viktor reached for his father. His father's hug was strong and steady, and Viktor hugged him back as hard as he could. Over his shoulder, Viktor could see his grandmother sitting at the table, her face very white, staring back at Viktor.

Viktor clung to his father and didn't dare look away from his grandmother.

"Vitya, what happened?" demanded his father, pulling back so he could look at Viktor's face. Viktor glanced at his father very briefly before returning his gaze to his grandmother.

"Let us put the child in his room," said the policeman. Viktor's father looked in confusion at the policeman, then at Viktor's grandmother, then at the policeman again. Viktor's father then carried Viktor to his bedroom and set him down on the ground.

"We should get you some clothes," said the policeman, standing just inside the doorway beside Viktor"s father.

Viktor knew an order when he heard one. He let the blanket fall to the ground, then took off the nice factory man's shirt. He went to his little cupboard to get clean underpants, clean trousers, and a clean shirt. He was very proud that he could dress himself; he was three years old, after all.

"Child, can you show me around your room?" the policeman asked.

"Why?" asked Viktor's father in a sharp voice. Viktor knew that tone of voice from his grandmother, and he went still.

"Because my colleagues will be some time with your mother," said the policeman. Viktor's father got very white in his face before he knelt beside Viktor.

"Vitya…" he began, then sighed. "I don't suppose you would tell me what happened, even if you could."

Viktor looked down at his feet. He had traces of dirt between his toes. If his grandmother saw his dirty feet, she would slap him so hard he would be in bed for days.

"Why don't you go into the kitchen," suggested the policeman, and Viktor's father slowly stood. He looked down at Viktor for a very long time, then left the room. The policeman sighed. He knelt down beside Viktor. "Can you do up your own buttons?" he asked.

Viktor looked around, to make sure his grandmother had not snuck up on them, and then nodded. "I can do my buttons," he said. The room was quiet enough that he could whisper, and whispering did not make his chest hurt. "I am three years old."

The policeman chuckled. It was a nice sound. "Three years, so old." He smiled at Viktor, and Viktor, who had read so many books about normal people, made a smile back at him. It was the normal thing to do.

Viktor finished pulling on his socks, then he went over to his little bed. He picked up the book on the top of the pile and carried it over to the policeman. "This is a book," Viktor said. "I like this book."

"Can you read?"

Viktor nodded as hard as he could.

"Good." The policeman opened the book. "What is that word?"

Viktor looked. "Teacher," he whispered.

"Can you read me all of this book?"

Viktor settled down on his bed, the policeman sitting on the floor beside him, and he read the book. It was hard work; having to say all of those words out loud. The policeman helped him with the words Viktor did not know, and that was nice, to learn something and not be called stupid.

The policeman did not say that Viktor was strange, or abnormal, or evil, so Viktor thought that maybe he was acting like a normal boy. That made him quiet all inside his head. He liked to be normal.

At the end of the book, the policeman congratulated Viktor for a job well done. The only person who told Viktor he was doing well was his father, and so it made Viktor feel all warm in his insides, almost like he was swimming in the lake.

"Now, tell me about these," said the policeman, picking up Viktor's skates. "Tell me about ice skating."

Viktor did, talking about his lessons and what he had learned and what he would learn next. All of the talking was making his throat and his chest hurt, but he kept talking.

As Viktor finished his story, his father reappeared in the doorway, looking very angry and holding a large knapsack. The words dried up in Viktor's throat and he stood in the middle of the room, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Vitya," said his father. "Vitya, can you pack all of your clothes into this bag? We're leaving."

Viktor nodded. He did not know why they were leaving or where they were going, but he could pack his bag.

"I'll help him," said the policeman, standing to take the bag from Viktor's father, who left again. The policeman stood staring at Viktor for a long moment. Then he sighed again, but he was no longer happy. "Come, little boy, let us pack your things."

Viktor found his voice. "My skates first!" he insisted, and the policeman nodded.

"We start with your skates."

In a few minutes, the bag was packed with Viktor's skates, his clothes, and his books. He did not have any toys, but he did reach behind the dresser to retrieve the small blue-grey stone he had picked up at his mother's lake the last time he had seen her. Shyly, he showed the stone to the policeman, who smiled.

"Is that your luck charm?"

Viktor nodded, slipping it into his trousers' pocket. He then tried to lift the knapsack, but it was so heavy that he could only drag it.

The policeman solved Viktor's dilemma. He swung the bag up onto one of his big shoulders, then picked Viktor up like he was light as a feather. He carried Viktor into the hallway and to the kitchen, where the voices were loudest.

The voices stopped when Viktor's policeman walked into the room. Viktor's father was there, holding a bag of his own. Viktor's grandmother was still seated at the kitchen table, and there were more policemen all around now.

"It's time to go," said Viktor's policeman as he set Viktor down. "Go put your shoes on."

Viktor hurried over to the door, sitting down to tie up his shoes. The adults said lots of words that he didn't understand, but he did understand that he was going to leave. Would his father go with him? Would his grandmother?

As soon as Viktor stood up, his father came over, carrying Viktor's bag with his own. "Vitya, we're leaving," he said again. He held out his hand.

Viktor looked around. His policeman was nodding and smiling. The other policemen looked very serious. And his grandmother was still sitting at the table. She did not look at Viktor.

Cautiously, Viktor put his hand into his father's. He walked with his father to the door, his blood roaring in his ears. They were leaving. His grandmother was not going with them. And they had all his clothes; maybe they weren't coming back.

Maybe they would never _ever_ come back.

At the door, Viktor stopped and turned back. He could see his grandmother still. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Goodbye."

She flinched, almost as hard as Viktor did when she hit him.

The door closed between Viktor and his grandmother, and the policeman was pushing him and his father down the hall to the elevator. In the elevator, his father fell to one knee, putting his hands on Viktor's shoulders and staring at Viktor.

"Vitya, you can talk?" he breathed.

Viktor did not know why his father was crying, but he nodded.

"Why haven't you?" asked his father, putting one hand on Viktor's cheek. Viktor nearly flinched away, but he controlled himself.

"Can't."

"Why not?" asked the policeman. He was not smiling now.

Viktor put his finger to his lips like his grandmother always did. "Don't make any noise," he whispered.

The policeman said a word that Viktor did not know. His father looked very sad, his heart beating fast. Viktor hoped he was not mad at Viktor for speaking.

"Where we're going, you can talk all the time," said Viktor's father. He wiped his eyes. "As much as you want."

The elevator doors opened. Viktor's father picked him up to carry him out of the building. Out in the bright sunny afternoon, the policeman paused. "Where will you go now?" he asked.

Viktor's father blinked hard. "We can stay at the university," he said. He sounded so uncertain that Viktor put his fingers on his father's chin, in case he needed help speaking. Viktor did, sometimes. "I'll figure out something."

"Good." The policeman held out his hand to Viktor. Viktor stared at it, then reached out for it. Was this a handshake, like he had read about in books? "You be a good boy for your father, Viktor Alekseyevich," said the policeman as he shook Viktor's hand.

Viktor nodded, then shyly hid his face against his father's jacket.

"Good luck," came the policeman's voice, and then Viktor's father was walking, carrying Viktor like he hadn't done in a long time.

They walked for a time in silence, then Viktor's father stopped and set Viktor on a bench. He sat down beside Viktor. Viktor thought that his father looked very tired, and wondered if it was his fault. His grandmother always told him that he had to be quiet so his father could study.

"Vitya…" his father started, then stopped. Viktor sat and waited, looking at his father's face without blinking. His father looked back at him. "God, you look so much like your mother," he muttered.

Viktor tensed. Nothing good had ever come of his grandmother talking about his mother. Viktor's father had never hit him or slapped him or called him names and said he was evil, but maybe he would start now.

Viktor's father took a deep breath and began again. "Vitya, we are never going to go back home again," he said. "We are going to go live at the university. I will find you a new kindergarten that is closer. Do you understand?"

Viktor nodded. Then, feeling very bold, he whispered, "Can I keep skating?"

"Yes," said Viktor's father. He put his hand over his mouth for a minute. "Do you like skating class?"

Viktor nodded. "I like it very much," he said, because his grandmother wasn't there, and maybe that meant he could speak as much as he wanted to without being beaten.

Viktor's father nodded. "Come along, we have far to go." He stood up, and put out his hand to Viktor.

Holding on to his father's hand, Viktor walked down the city street, with all the cars and buildings, and all the people! He could hear so many hearts beating as he walked, almost a roar over the cars, and he let out a little breath.

In his books, he had never before understood what the characters meant when they said they were happy. But maybe this was happiness – walking with his father, going to a new house, with his ice skates in the bag and his special rock in his pocket.

The only thing that could make this day any better would have been a nice red apple to eat!

So yes, Viktor decided. Just like a normal person, he was happy.

* * *

_**Act I, Part II** _

* * *

Viktor didn't bother to turn on the lights in his apartment, just shuffled a few steps inside before letting his bags fall to the ground.

He was exhausted.

But this was not like his usual homecoming after winning yet another competition. This time, someone came through the door right behind him, turning on lights and closing doors and filling the entire room with a calm, slow heartbeat.

Yuuri.

"Do you want to go pick up Makkachin tonight?" Yuuri was asking as he carried his suitcase to the bedroom. "I know you told the kennel that you would be in tomorrow, but it's early enough that they would let you in."

Viktor blinked at the floor, trying to find the words, then to translate them to English. When he was this tired, talking _hurt_. "I pick Makkachin up in the morning," he finally said. "After a competition. He likes the kennel, and I am…" What was that word again? "Boring."

Yuuri returned from the bedroom, all rumpled clothes and warm smiles. "You're never boring," Yuuri said, moving into Viktor's personal space to wrap his arms around Viktor's waist. Viktor controlled himself to not flinch away. Normal people let their lovers hug them, even if they were tired. Viktor had to remember that. "I think you are very good company."

Viktor put his arms around Yuuri, mostly so he could rest his cheek against Yuuri's hair and wish he was alone. He had a routine for when he came home after winning gold, without which he could not get to sleep. With Yuuri there, Viktor didn't know how he was ever going to wind down, and he ached with the frustration of it all.

In his arms, Yuuri made a noise. Viktor pulled back, in case he had squeezed Yuuri too tight, but the younger man was smiling fondly up at Viktor. "You did it," Yuuri whispered.

"Did what?" Viktor replied. Yuuri's eyes were shining behind his glasses, warm brown with a hint of burgundy; every time Viktor looked at Yuuri he saw something new, something special, and Viktor's chest hurt with frustrated longing. He loved Yuuri so much, and he knew that one day Yuuri would leave him.

Everyone left Viktor.

"Came back to win the gold," Yuuri said, and Viktor had to pull hard on the thread of the conversation to catch up. "It's so different seeing you compete in person. You skate differently than in practice. More…" Yuuri scrunched his nose as he tried to think of the words. "Like you become the music." He blushed. "I don't know."

Viktor reached up to cup Yuuri's cheek, his thumb brushing over Yuuri's lower lip. He wanted to keep Yuuri with him like this forever, but he also wanted to be alone in the dark, wanted to be deep in the lake at night, with blackness all around him as the water pressed in on his body as he slept.

He was so tired.

But Yuuri was waiting for a response. Viktor swallowed and said, "In practice, I know everyone who's watching me. When I'm at competition, there are so many people that I'm alone with the ice. Only me."

"You skated so beautifully," Yuuri said, kissing Viktor's thumb. "I'm glad I went with you."

"That's probably the first time anyone's ever said they were happy to go to Slovakia in January," Viktor said, carefully stepping back from Yuuri's embrace.

"Don't say that," Yuuri laughed at him. "It was very nice."

Viktor shrugged as he walked over to the windows. His apartment had a lovely view, looking out over the river. On nights like this, he would stand in the dark and look down at all the places where the normal people were living their normal lives, and wonder what it would be like to be _normal_ without it being so very much hard work.

"Are you hungry?" Yuuri said, drifting over to join him. "Do you want to go out to dinner?"

Viktor felt his insides crawl at the thought. Having to go outside and be around strange people, having to pretend to be the Viktor Nikiforov the world expected of him… "Maybe not tonight," Viktor said.

"I don't know if we have anything here to eat," Yuuri said. "Oh, I could go to that restaurant you like and get food to bring home?"

Viktor focused on the lights of a barge, moving slowly down river. "You can if you want to," he said cautiously.

"I will do that." Yuuri gave Viktor's arm a squeeze before going back into the bedroom. "I won't be long. Do you want anything special?"

Viktor crossed his arms over his chest, curling his fingers into his sides. _Apples_ , he thought. _Red ones_. Out loud, he said, "Get whatever you want."

Yuuri emerged wearing a warm coat. "I'll be back soon," he promised. "I have my phone if you change your mind."

He walked to Viktor's side and leaned against him. Viktor slid his arm around Yuuri's shoulders, holding him close for just a moment.

This was what he had always wanted but never expected to have; someone special just for him, someone who saw him and thought he was special in return. Somehow and somewhere along the last year, Yuuri had decided that he loved Viktor.

"Viktor."

Viktor looked down. Yuuri was staring at him, a small, happy smile on his face. Out of habit, Viktor felt himself start to echo the smile.

"I'm so proud of you."

Viktor was so surprised, the smile slid off his face. "Why?"

"Because you proved to everyone what a great skater you still are." Yuuri pressed his forehead against Viktor's shoulder. "I know how much hard work it took, but you made it look effortless."

Viktor thought back to the arena in Bratislava, the chill he had felt in his bones as he waited to go on for his free skate. As the crowd roared, all Viktor felt was fear. Fear that he wouldn't be able to come back, wouldn't be able to skate at all after all those months away from practicing. Because if he couldn't skate, who was he? Would Yuuri want him anymore?

When he had taken up his place in the middle of the rink, feeling the ice under his skates, he had put all that fear away. On the ice, he could be alone. There was no one to touch him. The ice was his.

And he had done it. His score was not even close to his best, but he had very narrowly beaten out Yurio and Chris for the gold.

He opened his mouth, wondering if he could explain to Yuuri how being on the ice made him feel. But the mere thought of saying all those words exhausted him. Instead, he kissed Yuuri's forehead. "I'm a better skater when I am with you."

Yuuri's eyes gleamed. "Worlds are going to be so much fun," he said, a hint of mischief in his words.

Viktor sighed. "You first have to focus on the gold at the Four Continents."

"I know." Yuuri went up on his toes to kiss Viktor's cheek. "I'll be back soon!"

With one last wave, Yuuri left the apartment. Viktor counted to ten, to make sure Yuuri wasn't coming back, before crossing over to lock the door. He switched off the lights as he walked back to the big window. There, he waited, watching, until he saw Yuuri turn onto the sidewalk and head east.

He didn't have much time. Half an hour, at most.

Moving quickly, Viktor went into the bathroom, closing and bolting the door behind him. He put the stopper in the bathtub and turned the cold faucet. As the tub filled, Viktor shed his clothing and took a quick minute in the shower to wash the grime of travel off his skin. He was done and dripping across the floor before the bathtub was even half full.

Viktor lowered himself into the ice-cold water and shivered until the tub was nearly full. Then he turned off the water. The only sound in the apartment was the faint _drip-drip_ from the shower. Viktor was truly alone for the first time in days.

He wrapped his hands around the edges of the bathtub, getting a solid grip as he slowly lay back. The chill of the water made him gasp, but he didn't stop.

When only his face remained above water, Viktor closed his eyes. He took one last deep breath, then lowered his head under the water. He exhaled, the bubbles of air rising the to the water's surface.

In the stillness of the last moment before the water filled his lungs, Viktor felt at true peace for the first time in a very long time.

Then he breathed in.

A spasm of pain gripped his body, convulsing his limbs in the briefest agony. Then the pain was gone. The weight of the water filled his chest, caressing him from the inside, as he let go of the tub's sides and sank the few inches to the bottom.

He was finally home.

For a while, he just lay there and breathed, his hands floating loose at his sides. All of his aches from skating seeped out of his body into the water. It wasn't as good as the lake, but this was the only place Viktor could safely lie in the water and breathe. The city was so populated that he would have to drive for hours inland to get to an isolated spot by the river, and it wasn't worth the risk of having someone see Viktor Nikiforov walk into the water and not come back up for air.

He had meant to only stay under for a few minutes, to be ready for when Yuuri got home, but it felt so good that he drifted. He was nearly asleep when something penetrated his doze.

Knocking.

His eyes shot open as he sat up. As the water cleared from his ears, he heard a knock at the bathroom door, followed by Yuuri's voice calling, "Viktor?"

Viktor scrambled up to his knees. He couldn't speak with lungs full of water.

"Viktor, are you okay?" The doorknob rattled.

Bracing himself, Viktor exhaled water into the tub. The first breath of air hurt worse than death, like it always did, but Viktor didn't have the luxury of time. "Yuuri," he rasped.

The rattling stopped. "Viktor?"

Viktor exhaled more water. "I'm in the bath." He leaned forward, trying to get the rest of the water out of his lungs. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay." Soft footsteps receded across the apartment.

Viktor cursed himself as he coughed water into the tub. He had to be more careful. What if Yuuri had been so worried he had broken in the door to find Viktor lying underwater? He would tell someone. He would leave. Viktor's carefully constructed life would be over.

He pulled the drain plug, watching the water swirl away.

He could have lost everything.

Slowly, Viktor stood up. Yuuri lived with him now. He couldn't do stupid things like this any more.

He had to be normal.

Viktor wrapped a towel around his waist and gathered up his clothes. Opening the door, he could hear Yuuri in the kitchen. Carefully, Viktor went into the bedroom. He put his dirty clothes in the hamper, then went to the closet.

He had come too close to destroying his entire life. He couldn't lose Yuuri, even though Viktor knew that one day, Yuuri would walk out on him. The rings wouldn't matter; skating wouldn't matter. Everyone left Viktor, eventually.

He pulled on clean clothes, hoping that his skin would warm up before Yuuri touched him. If not, he could just say that he wanted a cold bath to wake himself up.

Viktor had been finding excuses his entire life in order to appear normal. He could find them now.

Taking a deep breath, Viktor went to find Yuuri.

Yuuri looked up from the table when Viktor appeared. "Hi!" he said, bubbling with such excitement that Viktor slowed. "You were so wiped out, I called Yakov to ask him what you liked to eat after you won at competition!" Yuuri pulled a large container from a bag. "He told me to get you beet soup and an apple."

In spite of his exhaustion and his churning fears, Viktor heart lightened. "You got me an apple?" he repeated, moving closer. He had been dreaming of red apples since he stepped on that podium in Bratislava.

"Yes!" With a flourish, Yuuri opened a little brown bag and pulled out an apple.

Viktor blinked.

The apple was green.

The crush of disappointment weighed on his shoulders, pushing at his knees until he thought they might buckle.

"What?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor took a deep breath on ragged lungs. He could not turn down Yuuri's offerings just because the apple was green; that was not normal. It didn't matter that all Viktor wanted in the world was a red apple. He could pretend he wanted green. He could pretend that he was happy with it.

Viktor Nikiforov had been pretending for his entire life. He could pretend just a little more.

Viktor drew himself up, straightening his spine just as he had learned on the ice. He composed his features into a faint display of gratitude, his smile light and open. He had practiced such expressions in the mirror for hours every day in his youth until they were perfect. "Thank you for going out, I can't…." He broke off, wondering at the sudden hard look in Yuuri's eyes, the tight set of his lips.

"Don't do that," Yuuri said, putting the apple back in the bag. There was a fire in his expression that Viktor had never seen before, and his heart was racing in a swift _swash-swash_. "I can tell you're upset, don't pretend you're not."

It took Viktor a moment to pull himself together. "I'm not upset."

"Yes, you are." Yuuri put the bag on the table. "Everything was fine and then all of a sudden it was like you were on stage." Yuuri put his shoulders back and raised his hand in a disturbing mimicry of the wave Viktor gave from the podium. "I thought this would make you happy. If it's not, tell me."

Viktor stared at Yuuri until the other man put his hand down. "On stage?" he said, the air making his words too thin and too high to his ears.

Yuuri slumped back against the counter. "It's that thing you do, when you have to talk to the press and the other skaters and sponsors," he said quietly. His cheeks were red, but he was still meeting Viktor's eyes. "Before I met you, I thought that was you. But since you became my coach, I see how different you are when it's just us. You're more real, now."

Viktor kept staring.

"I used to think it was confidence," Yuuri said, pushing up his glasses in embarrassment. "But you don't seem happy when you're like that. More like you're pretending to be happy."

Chills ran down Viktor's spine. He didn't understand. Yuuri had seen through him like he was made of water. It wasn't normal, the things Viktor did, and Yuuri had to see that. What would he do now?

Yuuri let out a long breath, almost a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. I just… I did what Yakov said, and I don't understand what's wrong."

Carefully, Viktor took one step, then another. Yuuri didn't move, so Viktor closed the distance to Yuuri's side.

"Pretending to be happy is as close as some people get," he said carefully. Yuuri was watching him, far too closely. "There was a time…" His throat closed on the words. Viktor picked up the small paper bag. "I spent a lot of time thinking that pretending was all I was ever going to have."

"But you have everything," Yuuri said. "You're the best figure skater of a generation, maybe ever. Everyone admires you."

Viktor pulled the apple out of the bag to hold on his palm. "I am just a man," he said, and that was not a total lie. "And all I ever want after I win is a red apple."

"Red," Yuuri repeated, before lifting his hands to cover his face. "Yakov said red. I didn't think it mattered."

"Yuuri." Viktor set the apple down to reach for Yuuri's wrists. Yuuri let himself be pulled closer to Viktor. "Thank you for going to get this for me. It means much to me."

"But you were disappointed."

Viktor ran his thumbs gently over Yuuri's wrists, knowing the strength Yuuri had in his hands. "I am tired, and I did not think."

Yuuri looked up at Viktor for a long moment before turning his wrists in Viktor's grasp. He slid his fingers through Viktor's, and Viktor's breath caught at the intimacy of the gesture. "Why red?" he asked quietly.

Viktor examined Yuuri's face, trying to find any hint of derision, but all he saw was open curiosity. "Red is my favourite colour," he said after a minute. Yuuri's ring pressed warm against his fingers. "When I was thirteen, I placed silver in my very first Junior Worlds." He smiled. "Yakov was proud of me. He asked me what I wanted to eat to celebrate, when we got home. I didn't know what to ask for. All I could think of was, red. Red food."

The memory came back to Viktor with clarity. His shoulder-length hair falling in his eyes, his body aching from the hard work of the competition, but he was as close to happiness as he had been since his father walked out of his life. Yakov had laughed at Viktor's earnestness and clapped him on the shoulder and called him a good boy.

"The only red food Yakov could think of was borscht and red apples. It was the wrong time of year for cherries."

"It was nice that he did that."

Viktor nodded. He brought Yuuri's right hand to his lips, to kiss the gold ring. "So now, whenever I come home from winning a competition, I eat a red apple to try to feel like that again."

Yuuri pulled his left hand free to touch Viktor's cheek. The gentleness of the touch made Viktor close his eyes, trying to remember this moment forever. "I want you to be happy," Yuuri whispered.

"I am," Viktor replied. He opened his eyes. "Now."

"Competing?" Yuuri asked. "Winning?"

Viktor shook his head, his hair falling over both eyes. Yuuri smoothed it back. "Not that. Being on the ice. Telling a story with the music, just me and the ice." He kissed Yuuri's hand again. "And now being with you. You make me happy, Yuuri."

The soft smile that blossomed over Yuuri's face was like the rising of the sun over the lake. "I am happy with you, too," he said as he traced a line down Viktor's cheek. "If there is anything I can ever do to make you happier, please tell me."

Viktor put his left hand on Yuuri's waist. "Tonight, all I want to do is eat and sleep," he said.

"Then we eat."

Viktor sat at the table while Yuuri made rice and heated up the soup. Yuuri talked as he moved, about how strange it had been to be a spectator at a skating competition, and how much fun he'd had. Viktor let the words flow around him, a sliding melody around the steady beat of Yuuri's heart.

He never wanted to lose this.

They ate in the kitchen. Viktor had more rice than soup; it was a relief to eat a grain that didn't taste like sour old paper. Yuuri made faces at the borscht and asked what was in it, but he ate his bowl and then the rest of Viktor's.

After tidying up, Viktor got into bed while Yuuri took a quick shower. He checked his phone, seeing that Chris had posted a _home safe!_ picture with his cat. Yurio hadn't posted anything since leaving Slovakia, which was unlike him, but Viktor knew that Yakov would make sure the boy got home safe from the airport. It was what Yakov had done for Viktor for so many years.

Putting his phone on the bedside table, Viktor burrowed under the blankets. He felt out of sorts after his interrupted soak and the problem of the apple. He hoped he would be able to sleep with Yuuri in the bed. He supposed that he could try. He wasn't going to be skating the next day; they had to focus on getting Yuuri ready for the Four Continents Championship. He could coach while half-asleep.

Yuuri entered the bedroom with a towel around his hips. "It's so quiet here without Makkachin," he said as he went to the cupboard. "When are you going to get him?"

Viktor watched Yuuri discard the towel in favour of his sleep sweatpants. Any other night, he would have suggested Yuuri come to bed without them, but tonight he was too tired to get up to any amorous activity. "After morning practice," Viktor said. "We can go for a long walk. It'll do you good, too, after what I have planned for you."

"Uh oh." Yuuri took off his glasses as he got into bed. "What are you going to do to me tomorrow?"

Viktor waited until Yuuri was lying down and within kissing distance before he said, "You have an international competition in two weeks and I am going to make sure that you are going to get that gold."

Yuuri groaned as he rolled onto his back. "I thought Yakov said that all the skaters got a break after Europeans."

"None of Yakov's skaters are competing in two weeks." Viktor turned out the lights. "We'll have the whole rink to ourselves. And we're going to use every inch of that ice."

Yuuri groaned again.

"Go to sleep."

In the dark, Yuuri curled up beside Viktor, his head on Viktor's shoulder. Viktor closed his eyes. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared, this. The warmth of Yuuri's body and the soft rhythm of his heartbeat might be able to lull Viktor to sleep.

"Viktor?"

"Yes?"

"Why red food?"

Viktor breathed in through his nose, wishing that he was back at the lake. He didn't have to speak, underwater. "When I was a very little boy, I think something important happened to me, and there was a red apple. Somehow. I don't really remember."

"Okay." Yuuri rubbed his check against Viktor's skin. "I'll make sure we get red apples next time we are at the store."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. If it makes you happy."

Viktor pulled Yuuri closer, so the other man was lying half on top of him. "You make me happy," he whispered.

"Good." Yuuri settled down, a solid, warm weight keeping Viktor in place. "You make me happy too."

Viktor lay in the darkness, the sound of Yuuri's heartbeat pulling him under, like sinking into the dark embrace of the water.

When he slept, he dreamed that he was a boy swimming all alone in a river, the fast current pushing him along to the sea.

In his dream, he was happy.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act II, Part II is set just a few days before [Water's Edge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9149977).

* * *

**_Act II, Part I_ **

* * *

Viktor stood at the side of the large rink. If he stood tip-toe in his skates, he could just see over the boards to where the big kids were practicing their skating. He knew that he was supposed to be with his class at the smaller rink, but he had never seen big kids skating in _person_. How could he possibly concentrate on his own lessons?

So he stood on tip-toe and clutched at the boards and stared. He was almost six years old, and tall for his age, but he had to crane his neck to see.

The big kids were all so good!

One of them, a boy in black clothing, skated out from the group. He put his arms out as he turned to skate backwards, then jumped into the air! Viktor watched, breathless, as the boy spun in the air and landed back on one skate with only a tiny wobble.

Viktor wanted to be that boy! To skate so great and to do jumps into the air and fly across the ice!

"Hey!"

Startled, Viktor let go of the boards and fell back, somehow keeping his balance on his blades. Over him towered a large boy, nearly a man, who had his hands on his hips and an angry frown. Viktor stared back, mentally kicking himself for not paying attention to the boy's heartbeat as he approached.

"No spying!"

Viktor's mouth opened in surprise. "I wasn't spying!" he said, anger hot in his stomach. "I wanted to see!"

"Dmitry!" came a call from across the ice. "What are you doing?"

The boy grabbed Viktor's shirt and dragged him along towards the door in the boards, Viktor fighting in vain to get free. "I found a spy!" he announced, flinging Viktor out onto the ice.

Viktor stumbled but regained his balance. He dug his toe picks into the ice and sped away from the other boy, stopping only when the only adult in the rink was between them. "I wasn't spying!" Viktor exclaimed, breathing hard. His chest burned with fury and he wanted to hit that boy. "I wanted to see the skating!"

"Hrm." The older man crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at Viktor. "Are you supposed to be in another class?"

Viktor gulped, but he remembered what his father said about telling the truth. He stood straight, his chin in the air. "Yes. But you are more interesting."

"He's adorable," gushed one of the girls. Viktor shot her a glare. He wasn't adorable, he was nearly six years old!

The older man harrumphed. "You can't be in this class until you can do a single axel jump. Can you?"

Viktor nodded, his heart racing.

"You can?" asked the man.

"Yes!" Viktor said. "I can, once you show me how."

The other skaters laughed at this, but the man just narrowed his eyes at Viktor. "Konstantin!" he shouted. A startled boy separated from the group of skaters. "A single axel, now!"

"Yes, Coach Yakov!" chirruped the boy. He skated off, building momentum.

"Watch this," ordered Coach Yakov. "Then you will do it."

Viktor's heart was beating so fast that his mouth was dry. This was his chance to learn how to jump!

Konstantin pulled one leg up, crouching low on the other, then jumped into the air and spun like he was floating. Then he landed perfectly, to the applause of his fellow students.

"Now your turn," said Coach Yakov, putting his hand on Viktor's shoulder to give him a small shove.

Viktor skated out onto the ice as he had seen Konstantin do. He didn't know if he could repeat what the other boy had done, but he was going to try!

He skated backwards, as the other boy had done, then turned to face forward and jumped as hard as he could, trying to turn in the air. The world spun and gravity dragged at him and his foot slipped out from under him when he landed and he crashed hard into the ice, banging his elbow.

The laughter of the other children echoed across the rink.

"Get up!" shouted Coach Yakov. Viktor climbed to his feet, wiping tears of pain out of his eyes. "Try again!"

Taking in big gulps of air, Viktor skated in a circle to regain his momentum, then tried the jump again. This time, he managed to get his blades under him on the landing, but the momentum from the jump flung his upper body out of balance and he fell again.

"Again!" No one was laughing now. The heartbeats of the other skaters were a distant buzz over the scrape of Viktor's blades on the ice.

Panting hard, Viktor got up and skated off in another circle. He was going to do a jump! He was going to prove to Coach Yakov and the other skaters that he was just as good as they were!

Viktor jumped. The world whirled and he couldn't reach the ice with his blade and he fell down into a heap, sliding along the ice. This time, he didn't stand, just sat and sniffled. He was so disappointed with himself. He'd tried so hard, and he hadn't been able to do it. A tear trickled down his cheek, then another. He angrily wiped them away.

Coach Yakov was skating over to his side. "All right, boy, get up," he said. He put his hands under Viktor's arms and lifted him to his feet. "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" Viktor protested loudly, wiping more tears off his cheeks.

"Of course not." Coach Yakov crouched down to look Viktor in the eye. "How old are you?"

Viktor gave a mighty sniffle. "I am nearly six years old."

"You are five years old."

It wasn't a question, but Viktor nodded. He sniffled again.

"What is your name?"

Viktor wiggled a little on his skates. "Viktor Alekseyevich Nikiforov," he recited.

"Well." Coach Yakov stood up. "Come with me, Viktor Alekseyevich." He held out his hand and Viktor took it, skating back with Coach Yakov to where the big children stood. "This child here has the potential to be a good figure skater some day," he said to the children. "Do you know why?"

Silence.

"Because he tries new moves with enthusiasm!" The coach's voice was sharp. "Because he gets up after falling down without feeling sorry for himself!"

Some of the other children were looking at their feet, but a few, including Dmitiry, glared at Viktor.

"If a small child has more energy to put into skating than you, why are you even here?"

Viktor looked up at Coach Yakov nervously, wondering if he should say something.

"Vitya?"

Viktor spun around at the sound of his father's voice. There was his father, standing at the edge of the rink just where Viktor himself had stood not a long time before.

"Vitya, come here!"

Viktor pulled his hand out from Coach Yakov's and slowly skated over to his father. He was in so much trouble, he knew from his father's expression.

"What have I told you about running off from your skating instructors?" Viktor's father asked as Viktor stepped off the ice. "This is the third time this month!"

"I don't like their classes," Viktor protested as he put on the jacket his father held out to him. "They are boring!"

A shadow fell over them. Viktor looked up to see Coach Yakov on the other side of the boards. "Your boy is very good for his age," said Coach Yakov. Viktor beamed. "Have you thought about putting him in ballet lessons?"

"Ballet?" Viktor's father echoed. "Why?"

"Ballet can improve balance and fluidity on the ice." Coach Yakov looked down at Viktor. "And this boy will need both if he is to skate competitively."

"You think he should compete?"

Coach Yakov shrugged. "I think he has a good chance, if he has any discipline."

Viktor stood tall under the praise. He didn't know what discipline was, but if it meant he could skate forever, then he'd find himself some!

"Vitya," said his father, "Go take off your skates. And stay inside the cloak room until I come get you."

Viktor waved goodbye to Coach Yakov, then set off for the cloak room. The little room was quiet, with the other lessons still going on. Viktor was not sad to leave early; he had meant what he said to his father. His instructors were concentrating on teaching the other children to skate backwards, and Viktor had learned that ages ago.

He removed his skates, wiping the blades as he had been taught, then tying the laces together so he wouldn't lose them. He pulled up his socks and wiggled his toes, before regretfully putting on his shoes. He didn't like shoes. He wanted to keep his feet bare, but his father wouldn't let him in the wintertime.

Bored, Viktor went to watch the other children skate through the glass. His side hurt from where he had fallen, and his elbow throbbed with hot pain, but he felt good on his insides. He had done a jump! He hadn't really landed well, but he had gotten the first part right, and that was the best thing in the world!

Viktor knew he wasn't like the other children. He didn't know why they acted like they did, like why the big mean kid Dmitry had glared at him so. But he knew that he could do good things with his body – he could run fast, and he could jump very high, and he could breathe underwater, and swim so great. If he tried hard to learn ice skating, he just knew he would be able to do it!

Maybe if he got really good at ice skating, then the other children at school wouldn't call him names or hit him at recess. Maybe his teachers wouldn't call him slow, or threaten to put him in a corrective school when he didn't speak in class.

Maybe his father would like him better.

Viktor sat down, his back to the wall. He rubbed his elbow and he made himself a promise. He promised that one day, he would be the very best figure skater in the whole wide world. No matter how much work it took, or how hard Viktor had to push himself, he would do it.

He would be the best.

His father walked into the cloak room. "What are you on the floor?" he demanded, shooing Viktor towards his skates. Viktor scrambled up, wincing at the pull on his sore leg. "Come on, we're leaving."

Viktor ran to keep up with his father as they left the arena. It was a sunny winter's day in St. Petersburg, and in spite of the cold, Viktor wanted to skip and jump. He was going to be the very best figure skater in the whole world, and he was happy!

"We have to find you another arena to skate at," his father said as they walked towards the bus stop. "The instructors don't want you back."

Viktor gave a little hop. He didn't care. He didn't like them. They were boring.

"Mr. Feltsman gave me the name of a dance academy for you to start ballet classes when you are six," Viktor's father went on. Viktor jumped again, nearly tripping on the landing. His father hauled him upright. "And he says you should start taking skating lessons with instructors who are in the competitive stream."

Viktor rubbed his elbow. He would like that, very much. If he had a good instructor, one who didn't think him slow, then he could be the very best skater in the world!

"Vitya. Do you want to keep taking skating lessons?"

Viktor looked up at his father in surprise. Of course he did!

"Vitya, say something."

Viktor coughed. "I want to keep taking skating lessons," he said. Sometimes, it was just easier to repeat what someone had said to him.

"Why?"

Viktor stopped to scratch his nose. He had to think about the words. "I want to skate the best," he finally said. "The best in the world."

"You want to be a world-class figure skater?" his father asked.

Viktor nodded hard.

"You really think you can do anything that well?"

Viktor nodded, then set off again for the bus stop.

While they waited for the bus, Viktor's father rubbed his chin a lot and looked at Viktor. Viktor watched all the cars go by and wondered if any of the drivers were skaters.

"Vitya."

Viktor looked up.

"If you really want this, I'll put you in those classes."

Viktor gasped from sheer joy. He scrambled over to his father's side and hugged his father as tight as he could.

"It's going to be a lot of work. You can't run off from your teachers any more."

Viktor shook his head. He wouldn't!

Viktor's father sighed. "What am I going to do with you," he said quietly, but Viktor was so happy that he bounced around in a circle until the bus arrived.

He was going to be the very best figure skater in the whole world, Viktor knew. He was going to make it happen, no matter how much hard work it took.

* * *

**_Act II, Part II_ **

* * *

Viktor quickened his pace as he approached the Trinity Bridge. He had been running hard for over an hour, trying to get the stiffness of days of sitting out of his limbs. But in spite of his physical exhaustion, his body aching as he pushed himself, inwardly he was floating on a cloud of happiness.

Yuuri had won gold at the Four Continents Championship.

It had been a struggle for both of them; Yuuri had made too many small mistakes in his short program and it had shaken his confidence, while Viktor still wasn't sure how to support Yuuri when he started to spin out under his anxiety. But Yuuri had stood on the ice at the start of his free program, taken a deep breath as he gave Viktor one last lingering look, and skated the best performance of his life.

Viktor slowed as he approached a clump of schoolchildren on the bridge's sidewalk. It took a moment to get past them, then he put on another burst of speed.

They were home now. The too-long flight home from Taipei had connected through Moscow, and when they disembarked at the St. Petersburg airport, Yuuri had been prickly and tense, while Viktor was distracted by the enforced inactivity of travel. They had made it to the apartment by three in the afternoon, and as soon as Viktor had suggested going for a jog, Yuuri had bolted out the door to 'run some errands'.

So Viktor ran alone, tracing the routes he'd been taking for nearly fifteen years. His earbuds played the melodies of his old skating routines, and he thought about skating, and about Yuuri, and the World Championships, and what he was going to do about the next season.

He was getting old. He had proven to himself that he could come back mid-season, but even with Yuuri by his side, he wasn't sure he would be able to pull together the enthusiasm for another season of performing. Coaching was what excited him now. Choregraphing routines for Yuuri and Yurio had invigorated him with the challenge. Coaxing Yuuri through his problems, to support him to his best performance… that motivated Viktor to get up every morning.

He should retire for good one of these days, Viktor mused as he turned east. Stop splitting his energies. Focus on coaching.

But the roar of the crowd at the European Championship after his free skate… that stayed with him.

Maybe he wouldn't think about retiring for a little while, yet.

At the end of his street, Viktor finally slowed to a walk. His legs burned and his chest ached, but he was pleased by how far he had gone. Now, all he wanted was a shower and a cup of tea, and his Yuuri.

The apartment was empty when Viktor got in. He checked his phone, but no messages . _Going into the shower,_ Viktor texted. _Where are you?_

He put the phone down on the counter as he stripped out of his sweaty clothes. When he was naked, he gave himself a critical once-over in the mirror. The five pounds he'd put on while coaching Yuuri in Japan were finally gone, once he had resumed his in-season training routine. There was more definition in his upper body from the muscle he'd put on to help lift Yuuri in their exhibition dance.

He made a face at his hair, sweeping it to the side out of his eyes. It was at an awkward length, but he needed it long for emphasis in his free program. He frowned at himself for a moment, before shaking his head. He was being silly, staring at himself so.

His phone beeped. It was Yuuri. _I will be another half hour. Do you want anything?_

 _Only you_ , Viktor replied, then sent a red kiss emoji. Heart light, Viktor put his phone down and stepped into the shower.

It was strange, he mused as he scrubbed soap over his skin, how he didn't feel like taking a cold bath like he usually did when returning home from competitions. He hadn't been as physically active as he usually was, that was probably part of it, but also he hadn't been in the spotlight like he was when he was the one competing. This time, Yuuri had been the media's darling. Everyone wanted to speak to Yuuri, to have a moment of his time and attention. Viktor had seen how this had weighed on the man, but had only stepped in when Yuuri's command of English had faltered after a very long and exhausting day.

Afterward, cuddled together in the dark of their hotel room, Yuuri had asked why everyone wanted to talk to him.

"You're everyone's dream," Viktor had said quietly, running his hand over Yuuri's back. His skin was so soft, over a core of steel. "You came back from a career low point and are now the best skater in the world. You're a fairy tale come to life."

Viktor could practically _hear_ Yuuri blush. "I'm not the best in the world."

"You are today." Viktor had kissed Yuuri, slow and gentle, and was not in the least surprised when Yuuri had rolled him onto his back and kissed him like it was their last day on earth.

The mere memory of their lovemaking took Viktor's breath away. He ran his hand down his stomach to grip at his half-hard cock, willing himself to calm down. He didn't know what Yuuri would be up to when he returned from his mystery errands, but Viktor was really hoping that they might end up in bed together.

Or if not the bed, then maybe the couch. Or the kitchen table. Or…

Viktor gave his head a hard shake. He was getting ahead of himself. He rinsed the last of the soap off his body, then turned the water on cold. He gasped at the sensation, but it had the desired effect. When Viktor got out of the shower, he was no longer in such an excited state.

The apartment was quiet and still when he emerged from the bathroom. Not sure what they would be getting up to that evening, Viktor put on clean sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt before returning to the living room. He spotted Yuuri's carry-on bag by the front door, and sighed at his fiancé's absentmindedness. Then he smiled.

Five minutes later, Yuuri's very first gold medal was propped up on the living room table, positioned to take the best advantage of the afternoon sunlight. Viktor admired his handiwork for a few minutes before retrieving his phone to take a photo.

He sank back on his heels to consider the medal. Yuuri looked good in gold, and not just figuratively. Maybe he could be convinced to wear some gold in next season's performance, Viktor mused. Something to go with his engagement ring. Gold… and maybe blue? A dark blue, almost the colour of midnight, with golden stars… and a melody that wove in the melancholy of a long night alone by the ocean, not the sharp ache of youth, but the sadness of maturity that lingered on the side of bittersweet hope.

Viktor scrambled for his notebook, already picturing Yuuri flying over the ice, his body telling a story only half-imagined.

So wrapped up in his work, Viktor only realized that Yuuri had returned when he closed the door behind him. "What are you doing?" Yuuri asked, balancing many packages as he turned the lock.

"Choreographing your program for next season," Viktor said. He gave Yuuri a quick glance, loath to put down his pencil when he was still inspired. "What did you get?"

Yuuri's cheeks grew pink, which was suspicious. "A few things," he said vaguely. "I'm going to take a shower."

Viktor raised his eyebrows. "Do you want company?"

"No!" Yuuri yelped, backing towards the bathroom still carrying his armfuls. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Then he was in the bathroom and closing the door. Viktor shook his head. Yuuri was probably up to something, but at least Viktor had a few more minutes to work on the program. It was exciting, to put together a program for Yuuri. After almost a year together, he knew Yuuri's strengths and his weaknesses. This program would be perfect for Yuuri, leaning heavily on his stamina and physical power for technical scores, while using the man's grace and sensuality to tell the story Viktor was creating.

No one was going to be able to take their eyes off of Yuuri.

Satisfied with the steps progression for now, Viktor made a few notes on the melodic line. He would have to find a composer who he could work with to bring his vision to life.

The shower turned off. Viktor went back to his notes, wondering if Yuuri could pull off a quad salchow in the last quarter of a program. It would be difficult, but with his stamina, and if they prepared for it…

The bathroom door opened. Viktor looked out of the corner of his eye to see Yuuri, towel around his hips, carrying his mysterious packages quickly into the bedroom. Viktor smiled as he looked back at his notes. Yuuri Katsuki was many things; sneaky was not one of them.

"Viktor?" Yuuri called sharply.

"Yes?" Viktor said, closing his notebook.

"Where's my medal?"

"In front of me, on display."

Yuuri poked his head around the doorframe. "Why?" he demanded.

"I needed inspiration." Viktor smiled lazily at Yuuri. "Why, do you want it?" Something occurred to Viktor, and he sat up. "Do you want to wear it?" Viktor had never had sex with anyone wearing a gold medal. It might prove exciting.

Yuuri scrunched up his nose in annoyance. "No, I wanted to make sure I didn't lose it."

"Oh, I'm not going to let you lose this medal," Viktor said. "Do you need some help getting dressed?"

"No." Yuuri disappeared into the bedroom.

Viktor stretched out on the couch. His body ached pleasantly. With another night of sleep, he would be good as if he'd just stepped out of the lake. "What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" he asked.

"I don't know." A long _zip_ sounded. Viktor stared at the ceiling, wondering what piece of clothing Yuuri had that would have such a long zipper. "What do you want to do?"

"Something." Viktor pulled his left knee to his chest, stretching out his hamstring. "Do you want to go out to a restaurant? I can get us into the best restaurant in the city."

"Why?"

Viktor rolled his eyes. "We should celebrate."

"We did enough celebrating in Taipei."

"There is never enough celebrating at your first gold medal." Viktor put his left leg down, then took hold of his right knee. "And you didn't even let loose at the banquet."

Yuuri let out a sound that might have been a snort. "After what happened the last time I let loose at a banquet, I'm never drinking at a skating function ever again."

Viktor smiled fondly at the memory of Yuuri, drunk off his rocker at the Grand Prix finale over a year before. "You were adorable," he called. "And extraordinarily flexible."

"Ugh."

"You know," Viktor went on, stretching his leg out over his head. "You never told me where you learned to pole dance."

"And I never will."

Viktor pouted at the ceiling. The expression felt strange on his face; perhaps he wouldn't use it for a while. "Oh!" Viktor said, inspiration striking. "We should go out dancing to celebrate."

The silence from the bedroom went on long enough that Viktor let go of his leg and sat up. Had he gone too far? Had Yuuri been offended by his reference to that fateful banquet? Viktor hoped not; it was what had ultimately brought them together.

Then Yuuri said, "Let's not go out," as he stepped into the living room.

Viktor's heart nearly stopped. Yuuri was wearing his new suit, the one he'd been fitted for at Viktor's tailor just before they left for Taiwan. The fabric of the suit hung perfectly, accenting Yuuri's slim, graceful figure. But it wasn't the suit itself that had caught the words up in Viktor's mouth.

It was the dark red shirt Yuuri wore under the jacket.

"What do you think?" Yuuri asked, and there was no uncertainty in his voice now. This was Yuuri with the confidence of the ice under his feet, a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it.

"Uh," Viktor said helplessly. His heart hammered in his chest, a flutter of _want-need_ he'd never felt before.

"Do you think I should wear it like this?" Yuuri went on, running his hand over the buttoned jacket. "Or, like this?"

He undid the jacket button with a slow slide of his fingers, then smoothed the jacket back to reveal even more of the red shirt. The fabric lay flat over Yuuri's stomach and Viktor ached to touch him.

Viktor swallowed. It took him two tries to say, "It depends on what impression you want to make."

"Oh?" Yuuri walked across the living room, stopping just out of Viktor's reach. He put one hand on his hip to hold the jacket open. "What should I do if I wanted someone to dance with me?"

Viktor pushed the hair back out of his eyes, mostly to keep from reaching out for Yuuri. He wanted to touch all that red, to feel the strong warmth of Yuuri's body under his fingers. "If you want to dance, you should probably leave the jacket open," he said faintly.

A smile curved over Yuuri's lips. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and the red of the fabric made the burgundy hints in his brown eyes darken to the deepest ruby. Viktor had never wanted anything so much in his entire life as he wanted Yuuri at that moment.

"Does that mean you'll dance with me?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor scrambled to his feet. "Any time," he said, closing the distance between them in a few quick steps. He stopped, just this side of touching. He needed Yuuri so much it frightened him.

"Then right now." Yuuri looked at Viktor for a moment, then stepped back and was moving over to the stereo before Viktor could reach for him. "We dance."

He pulled out his phone and plugged in the cable; in a moment the drums and string bass of a song filled the air. As the music played, Yuuri walked back over to where Viktor stood.

Viktor ran his tongue over his lips. He felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest if he didn't get to touch Yuuri soon. "How do you want to do this?" he asked. "Tango? Foxtrot?"

Yuuri smiled again. "How about this?" He stepped full against Viktor, one hand sliding around Viktor's hip while the other went around his shoulder.

Viktor let out a shaky breath. Yuuri was like flame and embers, burning hot and steady. He placed both hands under Yuuri's jacket, running them over the smooth red silk covering Yuuri's back. "I can dance like this," Viktor whispered.

"Good." Yuuri stepped forward and Viktor reflexively moved back, falling in with the steps of the dance Yuuri led him on. This wasn't any dance Viktor knew; just the slow movement around the room, their bodies touching at chest and thigh. Viktor had skated partners with Yuuri often enough in practice for their exhibition dance, but this was so much _more_. Here, Yuuri led and Viktor followed, like moving along after a candle in the dark of the forest.

The song transitioned into another, quieter song, and Yuuri slid his hand up to Viktor's neck. The sensation made Viktor groan and close his eyes. "Do you like this?" Yuuri whispered, his breath ghosting over Viktor's lips. "Dancing with me like this?"

"Yes," Viktor whispered back. He kept his eyes closed as Yuuri moved them in the dance, trusting Yuuri to keep him safe.

"You're so beautiful," Yuuri said, and this made Viktor open his eyes. "You've always been so beautiful."

"Me?" Viktor pulled one hand out from under Yuuri's jacket, reaching up to cup the man's jaw. "You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Yuuri turned his head to take Viktor's thumb between his lips. He bit down gently, the pressure threatening to buckle Viktor's knees. Then he kissed Viktor's thumb to ease the sting. "I take it that means you like the suit?"

Viktor couldn't take it any more. He leaned in, seeking Yuuri's lips with his own. Yuuri made a small whimper as he kissed Viktor back, tightening his hold on Viktor's neck to keep him close. He arched his body, and Viktor felt Yuuri's rising excitement as he rocked his hips against Viktor's.

Viktor could feel Yuuri's heart beating in every inch of his skin, thrumming flush under his hands. He wanted to tear Yuuri's clothes off and take him right there on the floor of the living room, and only the soft music playing kept Viktor from completely losing his head.

Viktor finally pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard. "I like the suit," he panted against Yuuri's neck. "I'd like it even more if you let me take it off you."

"Yes," Yuuri breathed, going back in to kiss Viktor again. This distracted them both until another song started on the speakers, the differing tempo enough to slow their pace. "I think I'll turn that off."

Reluctantly, Viktor let Yuuri go. The other man turned off the stereo and tapped at his phone before powering it down. "Now what?" Viktor asked. "What do you want now?"

Yuuri deliberately looked Viktor up and down as he returned to the man's side. Without touching, he looked straight into Viktor's eyes. "Do you really want to know what I want?"

Viktor had to take a moment to breathe. If this was the sort of confidence that winning a gold medal gave to Yuuri, Viktor would be fine with silver for the rest of his life. "I want to know."

Yuuri stepped against Viktor, one hand on the back of Viktor's neck as he put his lips to Viktor's ear. "I want you," he whispered, the words sliding like liquid flame down Viktor's spine. "I want to take you to bed and I want to watch you moving under me."

Viktor closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. " _Please_."

Yuuri kissed the shell of Viktor's ear before stepping back. "Come on."

Viktor let himself be led into the bedroom.

Once inside, Yuuri shrugged out of his jacket. "I got a lecture on how to hang this," he said, looking around for a place to put it.

Viktor, reassured at the return to practical things, took the jacket from Yuuri. "I thought the whole point of wearing a new suit was to leave it crumpled on someone else's bedroom floor," he said as he put the jacket onto a hanger.

"Do you know how much this suit cost?" Yuuri asked.

"Of course, I was there when you paid for it." Leaving the jacket in the closet, Viktor returned to Yuuri. "You wear it well."

"Oh?" Yuuri leaned against the closed door, tilting his head back to look at Viktor. The line of his throat was distracting. "I'm glad you like it."

Viktor looked down Yuuri's body. The red of his shirt was the perfect compliment to the rosy flush in his cheeks. Viktor knew from experience that when Yuuri was aroused, that flush went all the way down his chest. "I liked it very much," Viktor said, pulling the shirt free to Yuuri's trousers. "Do you want me to show you how much?"

The smile faded on Yuuri's face, replaced by a considering and open gaze. "I want whatever you want," he said.

"Good." Deliberately, Viktor undid Yuuri's buttons, one after the other, to reveal the pale smoothness of his chest. He was absolutely exquisite; a living work of art.

"Viktor."

Viktor looked up. Yuuri touched his cheek, slid his fingers over his ear to cradle his head.

"I want what you want," Yuuri said again. His dark eyes were hypnotic, capturing Viktor and pulling him under.

"You're all I've ever wanted," Viktor whispered. He bent in to kiss Yuuri's cheek, then down his neck, while his hands touched Yuuri's skin.

Then Viktor got down on his knees. Yuuri breathed hard as he watched Viktor undo his belt buckle, then the buttons of the trousers. He slid the zipper down before cupping Yuuri's cock through the black fabric of his underwear. Yuuri moaned softly, reaching down to touch Viktor's cheek. Moving with care, Viktor pulled Yuuri's underwear down. The man's cock was hard as Viktor grasped it, squeezing gently until Yuuri's hips twitched forward. Viktor took the hint and stroked up and down a few times before moving to take the tip between his lips.

Yuuri let out a sigh as Viktor moved forward, taking as much of Yuuri's length into his mouth as he could. They were good at this, having practiced so frequently. Viktor knew how to get Yuuri off, knew how to stroke and how to suck, knew when Yuuri wanted to be squeezed tighter and when he wanted to feel Viktor's tongue.

For his part, Viktor liked Yuuri's cock in his mouth, liked that feeling of fullness on his tongue.

Normally, they did this in bed, so Yuuri standing against the bedroom door was new. Viktor could feel the tension in his legs as he tried to keep from pushing forward into Viktor's mouth. Viktor pulled off Yuuri's cock, wrapping his hand around the length to keep stroking while he sat back on his heels.

"Viktor, that's…" Yuuri's head fell back against the door as Viktor rubbed circles on the underside of his cock. "God."

"Remember what you said?" Viktor asked. Yuuri was beautiful; his pale skin framed by the red silk, the rosy flush running down his chest as Viktor stroked his cock. "You want whatever I want?"

"Yes," Yuuri panted.

"Then I want you to come in my mouth."

Yuuri's eyes snapped open to stare down at Viktor. He kept staring as Viktor took Yuuri's cock in his mouth, moving forward until he could taste Yuuri on the back of his tongue. He slid his head back and forth, feeling the drag of Yuuri's cock in his mouth, his jaw aching at the stretch, but he kept going until Yuuri started to moan again, his hand fisting in the shoulder of Viktor's shirt. "Viktor, I—"

Viktor wrapped his hands around Yuuri's thighs as the man came hard, spilling down Viktor's throat. He kept Yuuri in his mouth for a long moment, until Yuuri relaxed back against the door, before slowly pulling off.

Yuuri stared down at Viktor, breathing hard. "Oh," was all he managed.

Viktor smiled. "Out of these," he instructed, pulling Yuuri's pants down. "Get into bed."

Yuuri stepped out of the trousers and underwear, pulling at Viktor until he stood. "Do you want me to wear the shirt?" he asked when Viktor was up.

It was all Viktor wanted, but a moment of practicality intruded in Viktor's head. "It's hard to get wrinkles out of silk," he said. He slid the shirt off Yuuri's shoulders, and placed it carefully on the dresser. "I like the colour."

"I know." Yuuri pulled Viktor over to the bed. "Why are you wearing so many clothes?"

Together, they got Viktor undressed, then got into bed. Viktor knew that with Yuuri's stamina he would be ready for another round in under half an hour, and that left a lot of fun to be had.

Yuuri, it would seem, had an agenda. Once Viktor was naked and on his back, Yuuri began kissing and touching him all over. Viktor let himself be moved, wondering what Yuuri had in his mind. He began to get an inkling when Yuuri positioned himself between Viktor's legs, lifting one knee to kiss the inside of his thigh. "Yuuri?"

Yuuri kissed his thigh again. "Do you remember what I said?" he asked, sliding his palms along Viktor's legs. "That I want you under me?"

Viktor's breath hitched. "I remember."

"Can we do that?"

Viktor nodded. They didn't normally go that far; most days they alternated between blow jobs and hand jobs. When they did get a chance to go further, it was usually Viktor who was inside of Yuuri. But they had switched things around once, soon after Yuuri moved into Viktor's apartment, and it had been so intense that Viktor had felt it for days.

"Is that okay?" Yuuri pressed, his hands stilling on Viktor's thighs.

"Yes." Viktor reached up to pull Yuuri down to him. Yuuri went, solid and grounding on Viktor. "Yes, please," Viktor breathed into Yuuri's mouth.

They kissed for a while, Yuuri holding Viktor flat on his back. After a while, when Yuuri began to grow hard again, he sat up and went for the little drawer that held the condoms and the lube. Viktor lay where he was, watching Yuuri. The man was perfection, grace and strength as he moved. Now, he detached two condoms from the strip and brought them back over to where Viktor lay.

"What are you doing?" Viktor asked, feeling curious and a little vulnerable.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure you remember how this all goes," he said dryly, making Viktor smile.

"I meant right now."

"The English word is foreplay?" Yuuri ripped open one of the condom packets. "I know you know that." He rolled the condom down over two fingers.

"I do." Viktor sat up, a little uncertain. "Do you want me on my stomach?"

Yuuri paused, in the process of uncapping the lube bottle. "Do you want to be?"

"I was last time."

Yuuri blinked at him. "How about we try with you on your back, and you can turn over if you want?"

Viktor nodded. He trusted Yuuri to go as slow as was necessary, and if things felt weird, he would just ask Yuuri to stop.

He lay down, that strange feeling of vulnerability returning.

Yuuri squeezed a dollop of lube onto the condom, then lay down beside Viktor. "We'll go slow," he said, brushing his lips against Viktor's.

"That's my line," Viktor said, making himself relax as Yuuri's fingers stroked against his opening. "Slow is good."

"I like slow." Yuuri pressed in, a gentle pressure. Viktor closed his eyes and tried to relax. "So slow, just what you need."

Yuuri distracted him with feather-light kisses against Viktor's lips and jaw while he worked his fingers inside Viktor. The gentle stretch eased after a minute, leaving Viktor to just feel. He didn't move, didn't try to take control, just lay there and let Yuuri touch him.

Then Yuuri changed the angle of his fingers, and a shiver of sensation slid over Viktor. "Did you like that?" Yuuri whispered into Viktor's ear.

"Yes," Viktor breathed.

Yuuri moved his hand again, and the sensations moved warm through his body. "How about this?"

"Yes." This time, it was more of a moan.

Yuuri sat up. Viktor missed the contact for a moment, before Yuuri pulled Viktor's legs over his thighs, opening him up more. The sensations as Yuuri stroked inside him, coupled with the vulnerability of being so exposed, made Viktor bite his lower lip.

"Easy," Yuuri whispered. He pulled his fingers out of Viktor for a moment, then he was back, moving three fingers into Viktor. Viktor tried to move his hips down, to take Yuuri's fingers inside him faster, but Yuuri had his other hand on Viktor's hip now and was guiding him, so slow.

"Yuuri, _please_ ," Viktor said, not sure what he wanted.

"I told you we were going to do this slow," Yuuri said, pushing up and in. The pressure made Viktor gasp. "You're so beautiful."

Viktor tightens his knees around Yuuri's hips. "Fuck slow," he said. "Just fuck me, _Yuuri_."

Yuuri smiled down at him, twisting his fingers inside Viktor until the man was moaning softly under his breath. Then he pulled out carefully, bending down to press a kiss against Viktor's lips. "Almost there."

Viktor lay still, breathing hard as he watched Yuuri discard the used condom and open the other package. He carefully placed a drop of lube inside the condom tip before rolling it down over his cock, then he moved back between Viktor's legs, pulling Viktor down the bed to the right position.

Viktor let Yuuri manhandle him gently, caught up in whatever vision Yuuri had. He hadn't let go of control like this in a very long time, hadn't let himself be so open. But then, he had never trusted anyone the way he trusted Yuuri.

"Easy," Yuuri said quietly, more to himself, as he squeezed lube onto his cock. "You ready?"

"Yes, just fuck me," Viktor said, wrapping his hands in the sheets to keep from touching Yuuri.

"Okay." With that, Yuuri pressed his hips forward. It took him a moment to ease inside, but he filled Viktor with slow, gently thrusts. Viktor closed his eyes to _feel_ everything, every touch of Yuuri's hands, the length of him pushing inside Viktor's body.

Viktor let out a low sound, halfway between a moan and a growl. Yuuri's hands grasped Viktor's hips and closed the last distance between them.

"So beautiful," Viktor heard Yuuri whisper as he pulled out. This was a whole different sensation, and Viktor groaned again. The sound turned disappointed when Yuuri pulled out all the way. "Hang on," Yuuri said, and he was back, sliding inside Viktor with a new slickness.

Viktor gasped at the ease of Yuuri's entrance, not expecting to be filled so quick. The slide turned into deep thrusts, with Yuuri pulling back almost the whole way before pushing back in. Viktor breathed hard with every thrust, his body open for Yuuri's guidance, a deeper echo of their dance an hour before. Viktor moved how Yuuri wanted him to move, felt how Yuuri wanted him to feel. The thick press of Yuuri's cock was all Viktor could focus on, so deep in his body.

With a sigh, Yuuri shifted position, moving his hands from Viktor's hips to his thighs. Viktor gasped as Yuuri pushed his legs up and apart as Yuuri went deeper than Viktor had felt before. Viktor gave a strangled shout as Yuuri thrust against him, deep and hard. "Yes," Viktor choked out, his body tingling as Yuuri's cock slid against that spot inside him. " _Yuuri_."

Yuuri pressed down on Viktor, one hand going around the back of his neck as Yuuri kissed him. The kiss echoed their press of their bodies, wet and deep and breathtaking. Viktor clung to Yuuri's shoulders as the man kissed him, fucked him, _took_ him in ways Viktor hadn't thought possible.

The sensations grew, making him feel as large as the universe, centred beneath Yuuri's body. "Yuuri, _please_ ," Viktor said, not even sure what he was asking for.

Yuuri breathed hard in Viktor's ear. "Beautiful," he whispered, as he took hold of Viktor's cock in one hand. Viktor's back arched up into Yuuri's grip, as Yuuri slid his hand up and down, squeezing just hard enough. He slammed into Viktor, and the double sensations drove Viktor over the edge. Viktor shook with the intensity of his orgasm, coming hard in Yuuri's hand, around Yuuri's cock.

Yuuri cried out, pressing deep inside Viktor. Yuuri's heartbeat surrounded Viktor like a blanket, fast and light and heavy, as Yuuri collapsed on top of Viktor.

For a long moment, they were perfect.

The moment could not last, however. Yuuri pushed himself to one side, pulling out of Viktor. Viktor lay still, his entire body tingling as Yuuri went to deal with the condom. Whatever he had been thinking about before Yuuri got back from his errands, he had never _dreamed_ that Yuuri would want to do this.

And Viktor had liked it.

The bed dipped as Yuuri lay back down, collapsing against Viktor's side. "Thank you," he whispered in Viktor's ear.

Viktor stared up at the ceiling. The endorphins from his orgasm were beginning to fade, leaving behind the aches in a body not normally pushed so far. "For what?"

Yuuri put his cheek against the curve of Viktor's throat. "For dancing with me," he murmured. "For being here with me."

Viktor closed his eyes. For his entire life, Viktor had pushed himself to his physical limits. That physicality was what people wanted from him, and they were willing to let him push himself to the outside edge of what a body could stand in order to get it.

But Yuuri wasn't like that.

Dancing with Yuuri, sex with Yuuri, was something new. Yuuri wanted to share in Viktor's accomplishments by sharing the weight of the work. When they were in bed, they were together. When Viktor was vulnerable, Yuuri was gentle and strong and sheltering.

Viktor never wanted to let Yuuri go.

But in the back of his mind, Viktor knew that one day, Yuuri would walk away from him. Everyone always did, no matter how much of himself Viktor gave away to make them stay.

"Viktor?" Yuuri's voice was softly panicking. Viktor opened his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," Viktor said roughly, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.

Yuuri sat up. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, bending over Viktor.

"Yuuri, you didn't hurt me," Viktor said. He took Yuuri's hand in his, squeezing in reassurance. "Tonight, what we did, it means a lot to me."

Yuuri still looked worried. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect," Viktor said, shoving all his worries about Yuuri to the back of his mind. "You are the best thing in my life."

Yuuri pressed his forehead against Viktor's throat. "You too." He breathed out. "I… I love you. So much."

Viktor pulled Yuuri's hand up so he could kiss Yuuri's ring. He knew Yuuri had a hard time speaking of their love out loud, and he valued Yuuri's words more than any gold or precious stones. "Tonight was perfect," Viktor murmured. "You are perfect."

Yuuri made a happy sound. "Next time I ask you to dance, we might actually get to dance for more than two songs."

"No." Viktor buried his face in Yuuri's hair. "Especially not if you wear that shirt again."

Yuuri's soft huff of laughter against his neck made Viktor close his eyes again. Everyone might leave him eventually, but in the meantime, he had Yuuri, and they had tonight.

And Viktor was not about to waste a single second of the time he had left with Yuuri.


	3. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II takes place immediately following the main body of [Water's Edge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9149977)

* * *

**_Act III, Part I_ **

* * *

Viktor sat in the back of Yakov's car, watching the streets of St. Petersburg pass by and wondering if he was going to be sick.

His father was gone.

For weeks, Viktor's father had been planning to leave for America, headed for Boston where he would take up a teaching position at a university. Viktor had been devastated at the thought of leaving figure skating behind, even though Yakov had said many times that they had figure skating coaches in America.

For weeks, Viktor had hardly eaten, had barely slept, and had been so distracted in school that he had been sent for punishment nearly every day. The idea of leaving Russia had made it feel like his world was _ending_.

And then, the day before they were supposed to leave, Viktor's father had sat him down and said that it would be better for Viktor to stay in Russia and to train with Yakov. It hadn't really sunk in until Viktor's father had finally gone, alone, to the airport, that Viktor was truly being left behind.

The weight of everything had settled in the back of Viktor's throat, making him sick, stilling his words. He hadn't been able to speak since his father had patted him on the shoulder and told him to be a good boy for Yakov, not even to say goodbye as his father took one last look at him and walked out of his life.

Even breathing made Viktor feel sick.

The car turned down a street. "We are almost there," Yakov said conversationally from the front seat. "You can settle into your room, and do your homework before school tomorrow."

Viktor didn't have any homework. His teachers thought he was too stupid for the regular homework they gave his classmates, instead giving him books to read to keep him still during lessons. He could work through all the exercises in his math book in his head, but when he tried to write it down his numbers got mixed up and it was easier to pretend he was stupid than to look at the disgusted sneer on his teacher's face.

"Mrs. Kuznetsova will show you to your room," Yakov went on. He was looking at Viktor in the car's rear-view mirror. "She is the housekeeper."

Viktor clutched at his skates bag and went back to watching the road. Every minute that passed took Viktor's father farther away from him.

Viktor had known his father didn't seem to like him all that much; what university professor would like a son who could barely pass his classes? But he had never imagined that his father would leave him _behind_.

Maybe… Viktor closed his eyes, trying to swallow around the rock of fear and loneliness in his throat. Maybe, if Viktor had been more like other boys, if he had been more _normal_ , his father wouldn't have gone away. If Viktor had known this might happen, he would have found a way to be more normal. He would have forced himself to talk more, to like soccer, to get along with the other children. If he had known his father could just abandon him, Viktor would have taken the taunts and punches of the other children instead of avoiding them as much as possible.

If only he had _known_ ….

The car slowed. Viktor turned his head to see the large house, its imposing stone face glaring out at the street. This was Yakov's house. This was where Viktor was going to live now.

Yakov parked and turned off the engine. In the sudden quiet, the old man sighed. "Come, Vitya, we'll get you settled." With a brief smile at Viktor, Yakov got out of the car.

Viktor unwrapped his fingers from his skate bag to open the car door. He got out, his feet touching the meticulously maintained flagstone driveway, and walked around to where Yakov was unloading the car's trunk.

"You don't have many belongings," Yakov observed. Viktor shook his head, reaching for the strap of his duffle, his long hair falling in front of his eyes as he bent down. "Ah, that is all right. All you need are skates and the ice, yes?"

Viktor straightened up. He wanted to smile at Yakov, to say he agreed, but he worried that if he opened his mouth he might vomit all over Yakov's nice driveway.

Yakov didn't seem to mind. "Come inside," he said, picking up the small box with Viktor's books and leading the way to the door.

Inside, the entrance hall was huge. Viktor stared and stared, at the paintings on the walls, at the sunlight coming in the large windows. Everything was bright and airy, so different from his father's cramped university room where Viktor had grown up.

The memory, so recent and so raw, stabbed through Viktor's chest. He was never going back to the university where his father had been first student, then instructor. He was never again going to see his neighbours, members of the teaching staff who tolerated Viktor running in and out of their rooms to look at their books and their pictures and listen to them talk. That life was gone, and all because Viktor couldn't be normal enough.

Viktor closed his eyes. He refused to cry. If he cried, Yakov would think him weak. If Yakov thought Viktor was weak, he might turn Viktor out and then Viktor wouldn't even have skating anymore.

Holding the strap of his duffle bag, Viktor made himself breathe past the ball of nausea in his throat. If Yakov kicked him out, then so be it. If his father didn't want him and Yakov didn't want him, Viktor would walk the hundred kilometers to the lake and live with his mother.

"Vitya."

Viktor opened his eyes. Yakov was staring at him. Viktor made himself nod.

"Leave your things here, we will go find Mrs. Kuznetsova."

Obediently, Viktor set down his duffle and skate bag beside the box of books and trailed behind Yakov through the house. The main level had many rooms, most with the doors open to show walls lined with books and art. Viktor wondered if he was allowed to look in those rooms, and if he could read the books. He loved books so much, loved looking at words. He could read Russian and English and French, thanks to his father's neighbours at the University, and could even speak some English.

Yakov turned a corner, then another, and they were in a large kitchen that looked out onto a park-like green yard. Viktor gaped at the trees and the flowers, already in bloom in this brilliant April day. He had never seen so much beauty in one place.

"Mrs. Kuznetsova!" Yakov called. A tiny old woman trundled out of the pantry. "Mrs. Kuznetsova, this is Viktor Alekseyevich Nikiforov, our next skating prodigy, if he can ever get the hang of a toe loop."

Viktor blushed at the mingled praise and criticism, while Mrs. Kuznetsova came over to them. She was shorter than Viktor, even though at twelve he was not tall, with grey hair and piercing dark eyes. Why, she might be as old as fifty!

"Hrm," said Mrs. Kuznetsova, hands on her hips as she examined Viktor. "Too thin." She tweaked his chin, but gently. "Too pale. You need more blood in you, boy. I will feed you liver. And what is this hair? Oh, boys these days!"

She spun off, bustling as she pulled a notepad off a shelf. Viktor didn't mind the threat of liver; he preferred eating it raw like he did at the lake, but cooked liver had been on his plate often at the university. What he did mind was her outrage at his hair. He like his hair; had been growing it long since his tenth birthday. When he looked in the mirror, he could see his mother's face in his reflection and that made him happy.

"Will you be able to take Viktor around?" Yakov asked. "I have business to attend to before dinner."

"Yes, go!" Mrs. Kuznetsova waved him off.

Yakov patted Viktor on the shoulder. "I will see you at dinner, and then after we will talk," Yakov promised. "Mrs. Kuznetsova will take care of you."

Viktor nodded, Yakov left, and after another minute of furious writing Mrs. Kuznetsova slapped down her pencil. "Now, boy, come with me," she said. Viktor obediently followed the woman back through the halls to the entranceway. "Pick up your things, I will show you to your room."

Viktor slung his duffle across his back, put his skates bag over one shoulder, and hefted his box of books easily. He followed the old woman down another hallway to a large staircase.

"All you boys sleep in this part of the house," said Mrs. Kuznetsova, huffing as she climbed the stairs. "As do I, so no one gets into any trouble! Not that you would, but ten boys in one house is designed for trouble." At the landing, she turned right. "You're younger than the other boys, I don't usually like them here before they are fourteen, but with your father leaving, it's better that you're here to keep training."

She stopped in the middle of the hallway, took a keyring from her dress pocket, and unlocked a door.

"Here we are," she said, moving inside. Viktor trailed after her. The small room held a narrow bed, a desk with a chair, a small dresser with a mirror on top, and a large empty bookshelf. At the back of the room was a tall window looking out onto the park below.

Mrs. Kuznetsova followed his gaze. "We're too high up for you to climb in," she warned him. "None of you boys are to be climbing in and out of windows, do you hear? You fall and break your legs and then you'll never skate again!"

Viktor wasn't worried. He had been climbing since he was a little baby. Why, the last time he had been to his mother's lake, he had climbed the tallest pine tree in the forest, and only gotten one little scrape on the way down.

Mrs. Kuznetsova made an exasperated noise. "All right, put down your things," she chided. Viktor set his book box on the desk and slung his bags on the bed. "I'll show you the house. There are many people here and I have much to do, so you need to look after yourself!"

Viktor was used to looking out for himself. His father had taught long hours, so Viktor was used to going to skating and ballet on his own, and in finding himself dinner before going to bed to read. At twelve and a half, he was very self-reliant.

Mrs. Kuznetsova showed him the bathroom and showers, pointing at the shower schedule four times for emphasis. Then she showed him where to get his towels and bedsheets. They walked down the stairs for a tour of the laundry room, where Viktor was informed he was expected to do his own laundry and to keep everything in order.

They made the circuit back to the kitchen where Mrs. Kuznetsova parked Viktor at the small table and made him drink a glass of water while she made tea and got out pastries. The pastries had raspberry jam in them, and Viktor was able to nibble at one with his tea and not even feel too sick.

While he ate, Mrs. Kuznetsova moved around the kitchen, turning on the oven and pulling vegetables from the refrigerator. "We have a strict schedule," she said, dumping potatoes into the sink. "To be the best skaters, you boys need routine! Good sleep, good Russian food, that's what will make you the best."

Viktor sipped his tea, wishing it were sweeter but not wanting to test this woman's patience if he reached for more sugar.

"And there is to be no nonsense," Mrs. Kuznetsova went on. She pulled a paring knife from the knife block. "No pranks, no fighting, no stealing. You boys all behave and work hard, am I understood?"

Viktor nodded. Mrs. Kuznetsova glared at him, but there was no heat in her expression.

"All right. Come be useful."

Viktor stood. He washed potatoes and carrots and celery, then sliced vegetables until the large soup pot on the stove was nearly full.

When he put the last slice of turnip in the pot, Mrs. Kuznetsova looked up from her chickens. "Go up to your room," she instructed. "Unpack. The other boys will be home soon and dinner is at seven. If you're late, you don't eat. Do you understand?"

Viktor nodded.

Mrs. Kuznetsova sighed, putting down her butcher knife. "Mr. Feltsman says that you are smart, but you don't talk."

Viktor shook his head.

"Can't talk, or don't talk?"

Viktor swallowed hard. He wanted to make a good impression on this woman, who had been very nice to him since he had landed on her doorstep. "Don't," he got out, his voice a little louder than a whisper. "But I can talk. I will."

Mrs. Kuznetsova hmphed again, but she looked more at ease. "Go, before I make you cook these chickens too!"

Viktor fled. He found his way up to his room with only one wrong turn. The house was quiet as he opened his window, letting in the sweet smells and sounds of spring. He stood in the window for a while, looking out at the park.

This was his life now. No matter what Viktor might want, his father was gone. All he had now was his skates, and his room in Coach Yakov's house with the little housekeeper and the other boys. He was pretty sure he would know most of them, as senior students under Yakov's tutelage at the rink, but as he was still twelve, he was not in the same league as they were. Maybe, Viktor thought, they would be nice to him.

Or, at least, if they were mean and hit him like the kids at school, Viktor was small enough to get away. He was used to being hit. He could handle it.

With a sigh, Viktor went to start unpacking. It was not a long process, and soon his few clothes and books were neatly put away. His skates he put on top of the dresser to look at when he was sad, to remind himself that how happy he was when he was skating.

Viktor sat at the desk, wondering if the other children in his class sat at desks when they did homework. Viktor opened the little drawers, finding paper and pencils and envelopes and stamps. In the drawer in the middle of the desk, Viktor found a little envelope. Inside he found a small key. It looked like the key Mrs. Kuznetsova had used to unlock the door.

Viktor stared. Before, when he lived with his father, he slept on a bed in the corner of the room. When he was at the lake, he either slept underwater or in the small cave by the aspen grove. He had never slept in a room with a lock before.

Viktor stood up. He went to the door. There was a deadbolt on the inside, which he turned back and forth. Then he opened the door and put the key in the lock. It turned easily. Back and forth he turned the lock, wondering if he was allowed to keep the key. Could he lock his door when he was sleeping? Could he lock the door when he went to school, so no one could go inside?

Maybe the key was there by accident.

Viktor walked down the hall. All the other doors were closed tight, and each door had its own little lock.

Viktor still didn't know. Clutching the key, he raced down the hallways and stairs until he was back in the kitchen.

Mrs. Kuznetsova was standing on a step-stool, stirring the soup pot with a large spoon. "What, back so soon?" she demanded. "No more food until dinner."

Viktor shook his head, then held up the little key.

Mrs. Kuznetsova stopped stirring. "Does it not work?"

Viktor shook his head again, frustrated with himself. "Can… Can I have it?"

Mrs. Kuznetsova looked at him. "That's your room, and that's your key. I have the master keys, but they stay with me. Are you afraid you'll lose it?"

Viktor closed his hand around the key, the little teeth biting into his palm as he shook his head hard.

Mrs. Kuznetsova went back to her stirring. "Run along, then, I'm busy."

Viktor dashed away, his head spinning. He had never had his own space before. Maybe he would get another book at the bookstore near his school, and read it, and put it on his bookshelf!

Head full of thoughts, Viktor ran around the bottom floor a few times before dashing up and down the stairs to bleed off the nervous energy in his limbs. He ended up back in his room, changing into his ballet clothes to practice his stretches.

He looked out the window as he stretched, watching the birds fly between trees. It was so nice to stretch in an open space, not bumping into his father's furniture.

Once limber, Viktor practiced his step routines for ballet class. So caught up in the movements was he, that Viktor nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice called from the doorway, "So you're the new boarder."

Viktor skittered back, heart in his throat. It was Mikhail, one of Yakov's very best students. At seventeen, he was tall and handsome and willowy with dark hair. Whenever Viktor looked at Mikhail, he felt a strange stirring in his bones, that he wanted to be just like Mikhail.

Now, Viktor nodded.

Mikhail shrugged. "Did Mrs. Kuznetsova show you around?"

Another nod.

"Fine. Just don't take too much time in the bathroom, there are a lot of us." Mikhail stepped back into the hallway and walked away. Viktor edged out to look, watching Mikhail enter a room at the far end of the hall.

There were voices down below, so Viktor quickly closed and bolted his door. He changed back into his street clothes and folded away his dance things before carefully opening his door again. Other boys from the rink were coming up the stairs, talking and roughhousing. A few of them said hello to Viktor, obviously not expecting a reply, while others ignored him.

Viktor stood in the doorway for a while, listening to the other boys' heartbeats faint in their rooms, then went back into his own room. He sat on the window ledge and looked outside until the clock ticked to nearly seven before going out into the hall. He waited until the last of the other boys had gone down the stairs before locking his door and pocketing the key.

He was the last one into the dining room, slipping into the only empty chair as Mrs. Kuznetsova brought in the soup. He might not know what do to, but the other boys dug into the food, talking over Viktor's head about school and skating. Coach Yakov sat at the head of the table and occasionally interjected, especially when someone spoke of skating, but otherwise he seemed preoccupied as he ate.

Viktor didn't know how he was supposed to behave. Luckily, he was sitting beside Gulnar, a friendly fifteen year old from Kazakhstan who was always cheerful in practices, and Gulnar made sure that Viktor had enough soup in his bowl.

After the soup, Mrs. Kuznetsova brought out roasted chicken and potatoes and green vegetables and bread. Viktor managed to eat almost all the meat on a chicken leg, and two chunks of potatoes, before the fullness in his stomach threatened to come back up his throat. He sat back, staring at his plate and hoping no one asked him anything.

Dinner ended with a sweet. Viktor shook his head when Gulnar offered him the dish and kept staring at his plate. All the determination he had found that afternoon was gone, leaving him feeling sick and alone again. He wondered if his father's plane had landed yet in America. Did his father miss him? Did he even think about Viktor at all?

The boys were standing up. Viktor jerked, afraid he had missed something, but Mrs. Kuznetsova was talking to Mikhail and another boy, who were clearing the table, while the others dispersed. Yakov stood slowly and gestured at Viktor.

"I want to talk to you now, come on."

Viktor trailed after Yakov to a room near the back of the house. The sun had set, and the park outside was growing dark.

"Sit, Vitya."

Viktor sat in the straight-backed chair along the wall.

Yakov sighed. "No, sit _here_." He pointed at a comfortable looking chair in front of his desk. Viktor scurried over and climbed into it, curling his legs underneath him.

Yakov sat behind the desk and examined Viktor. Viktor, who had been stared at by many people in his life, stared back.

Finally, Yakov sat back. "Vitya, I talked to your school this afternoon."

Viktor felt ice trickle down his spine. What if school told Coach Yakov that he was stupid? Would Viktor have to leave?

"They tell me that you are no good at your studies," Yakov went on. Viktor shrank back in his chair. "They tell me you are too stupid, that they should have put you in a corrective school when you were eight."

Viktor balled his hands up in his trouser leg. "I'm not stupid!" he said, fury driving him to speak. "I know many things!"

Yakov held up his hand. "I know." He fixed Viktor with a glare. "But you need to be smart in school if you want to be a figure skater."

Viktor knew this was a lie; he had heard the other skaters talking about the days in the Soviet Union when the really good skaters could get by with a life on the ice, no studies. But he wanted to be smart in school too. "I like to read," Viktor said heatedly, uncurling to sit up properly. "And I like to do art and ballet and music!"

"Do you know your history?" Yakov asked.

Viktor scoffed. His father had been telling him stories about Russian history ever since Viktor was born, and all the other teachers in his father's department had told him stories of other places and their history, and shown him all their books. "Yes."

"Do you know your mathematics?"

Viktor's anger faltered. "Sometimes," he admitted truthfully. He would never want to lie to Coach Yakov. "I know it in my head, but I cannot put it on paper."

Yakov tapped the top of the desk with his fingers. "I thought so," he mused. "Any boy who can pick up skating routines as fast as you can, is no stupid boy." He reached for a piece of paper. "I am going to take you out of that school, Vitya—"

Viktor bounced to his feet, hope blossoming in his heart. No more school! No more teachers who thought him stupid! No more children who hit him on the playground!

"—and you will work with tutors until the new school year begins," Yakov finished. "Then in the fall you will go to a new school, closer to the house. It will better for your training."

"Yes please!" Viktor chirped, so excited that he wanted to jump up and down.

"Sit!" Yakov bellowed. Viktor fell back into the chair, vibrating with energy. "This will be hard work, Vitya! I expect you to do your best!"

"I will!" Viktor breathed. It was hard to speak over the thrum of his heart in his chest.

"Good." Yakov tapped the desk again. "There is more I need to speak to you of, Vitya."

Viktor made himself sit still.

"It is about figure skating." Yakov leaned back in his chair. Viktor was glad; he always liked to talk about figure skating. "Do you know how competitions are scored?"

Viktor nodded.

"Then you know that much of a score comes not only from the technical elements, but from the judges' interpretation of the artistry." Yakov paused to eye Viktor. "That artistry is not only on the ice. A skater's public persona, their image off the ice, can strongly impact scores. And from there, winning or losing."

Viktor scratched his nose. He wasn't sure what Coach Yakov was getting at.

"Vitya, I know that you are a very talented skater," Yakov went on. "I see in you the potential for much success when you debut at the Juniors, after you turn thirteen. But I have concerns about how you interact with others."

Viktor hunched his shoulders a little. He didn't know what Yakov was talking about, but it was probably a bad thing.

"I see that you have a difficult time relating to the other skaters," said Yakov. "And with other adults. You are well behaved, but when you do not speak, they may get the wrong idea. They may think you aloof, or disdainful."

"I'm not," whispered Viktor.

"I know." Yakov tried to smile, and it was a strange expression on his face. "But in addition to your ballet and your skating, I want you to take classes in stage acting."

Viktor didn't understand.

"For the theatre," Yakov explained. "You will learn to speak up, and how to act in certain situations."

"Act?" Viktor repeated.

For some reason, Yakov's cheeks were going pink. "In case you need to put on a performance off the ice. To impress the judges, and the other skaters. Word gets around in the skating community."

"You want me to pretend?"

"I would not say so much—"

"I'll do it!" Viktor cried, jumping out of his chair again. If Yakov thought that pretending would make Viktor into a better skater, more like the other skaters, then maybe Viktor could pretend enough to be normal.

If he was normal enough, maybe his father would want him back!

"I'll do anything," Viktor went on, clutching at the edge of Yakov's desk. "Please. I want to be the best skater in the world!"

Viktor thought Yakov would be pleased, so he didn't understand why the man's frown grew deeper. "Good," he said. "You are a good boy. Now, go on to bed. Your tutor will be here in the morning."

"Thank you!" Viktor said. He dashed out of Yakov's office, nearly colliding with Mrs. Kuznetsova. He yelped and ran off before she could smack him. He ran all the way up the stairs to his bedroom, unlocked the door, and closed it behind him with a crash. He stood there, panting, his heart racing around in his chest.

He was going to do it. He was going to learn how to be _normal_.

A _thump-thump_ sounded on the wall. "Don't bang around, I'm trying to study!" yelled a voice from next door.

"Sorry," Viktor breathed, too excited to feel bad. Coach Yakov was going to help him learn how to be normal, and it would make him a better skater, and maybe even Viktor's father would come back and like him again!

Viktor went over to the window, listening to the faint thrum of the other boys' heartbeats down the hall. It was too early to sleep, and he was too excited to reread any of his books. So he sat in the window and looked at the lights of St. Petersburg twinkling in the dusk.

Somewhere nearby, either down the hall or in the park, someone was playing a quiet song on a guitar. Viktor had never heard the song before, but it made him warm in his chest to listen to it.

He was going to be the best skater who ever lived.

The dusk deepened to night, and eventually the music stopped. The other boys spoke in low voices. Down the hall Viktor could hear the sounds of the shower. It must be close to bedtime.

A knock on his door brought Viktor back to himself. Mrs. Kuznetsova stood there, hands on her hips. "It's getting too late for little boys to be awake," she scolded. "Go brush your teeth and get into bed. We all get up at five in the morning!"

She left, and Viktor got ready for bed. His happiness at learning to act normal was fading in the quiet of the house. As he brushed his teeth, staring at the bathroom mirror, he wondered where his father was, and if he missed Viktor, and if he would ever come home again.

Despondent, Viktor spat and rinsed his mouth. He went back to his bedroom and closed the door, locking it and placing the key on the floor beside his bed. He missed his little bed in the corner of his father's room at the university, missed the warm blanket and the soft lights on all the time. He could not remember ever sleeping in a room alone in his life.

He missed his father.

A tear slid down Viktor's cheek, then another. He angrily brushed them away. He was not going to cry that his father had abandoned him. His father didn't want him, so that was that. Viktor would just have to live this new life in the skaters' house, with his lonely room and the other boys down the hall.

Viktor was going to be the very best figure skater the world had ever seen. He was not going to cry like a baby.

Sniffling just a little, Viktor climbed into bed, leaving his window open to draw in the fresh air. He lay on his side, staring across the room in the darkness. One day, he was going to be the best figure skater in the world, and on that day, his father would know how wrong he had been to leave Viktor behind.

Closing his eyes on his unstoppable tears, Viktor silently cried himself to sleep.

He woke in darkness to the sensation of cold water dropping onto his cheek. Opening his eyes, Viktor saw the vague outline of the window, and he knew he was still in Yakov's house. There was a cold presence at his side, and it took Viktor a long moment to look up.

His mother was crouching over him.

She stared down at Viktor unmoving, unblinking. Water slid down a wet strand of hair onto Viktor's face, but other than that, his mother was as still as ice.

Viktor was not afraid. He pulled his hand out from under the blankets and reached up. He touched his mother's cheek, her skin as cold as the deepest part of the lake.

At Viktor's touch, his mother seemed to come to life. She took hold of his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles, then smoothed the long hair back from Viktor's forehead.

 _Sad,_ she observed.

 _Father is gone,_ Viktor remembered. _I live here now._

His mother bent down to kiss Viktor's forehead, and the scratchy press of her lips took all the sadness away from Viktor. _My child_ , she thought as she sat back up.

Viktor looked at his mother, crouching over him, and felt safe for the first time since his father had talked of going to America. He wasn't alone, not really. No matter how far away Viktor went, his mother would always be at the lake.

Viktor stared at his mother until his eyes closed from exhaustion, and he slipped deeply into sleep's heavy embrace.

* * *

**_Act III, Part II_ **

* * *

Viktor entered the apartment after Yuuri, closing the door behind him before letting his skate bag slide to the floor. He was beyond exhausted.

Yuuri, who had started limping soon after they left the arena, slumped down on the couch without taking off his shoes. "Why am I so tired?" he asked the ceiling.

Viktor slid the deadbolt home. "You said you didn't get much sleep last night." He put the chain in place. "And you did a lot of work today."

Yuuri groaned. "Getting ready for the Grand Prix wasn't as hard as this."

Viktor leaned against the door, looking at Yuuri across the room. He had hardly been able to keep his eyes off Yuuri all day. Part of him worried that if he looked away, Yuuri might disappear again.

Yuuri had been gone for four days, and Viktor still couldn't believe that he was back with only a bruised wrist to show for it.

How his mother hadn't killed Yuuri, Viktor still did not understand.

In the bedroom, Viktor heard the faint rhythm of Makkachin's heartbeat speed up as the dog woke to the sound of their voices. With a yip, Makkachin came into the living room, making a beeline for the couch and climbing right up on top of Yuuri. The dog licked Yuuri's chin, making the man laugh softly as he rubbed Makkachin's head.

"I missed you too," Yuuri said quietly, then said more in Japanese. Makkachin barked happily as he settled down at Yuuri's side.

Viktor watched this scene from the door. Part of him ached to join Yuuri, to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him that they should never be apart.

But the other part of him had been awake for four days, every moment spent in fear of what his mother was doing to Yuuri. He had been yelled at by the police, threatened with arrest and worse, and he hadn't been able to say or do anything.

His mother had taken Yuuri, threatened him, hurt him, and Viktor had not been able to stop her.

Yuuri had been in danger, and all because of Viktor.

Viktor breathed out, the heaviness of time dragging down on him. Even since his mother had appeared at the rink, Viktor had known that his life with Yuuri was over. Yuuri would not stay, now that he knew the truth about where Viktor came from. He would not stay, where Viktor's mother might come after him again.

The weight of everything sat on the back of Viktor's tongue, stilling his words, making him sick.

Yuuri would leave, and he would be right to do so.

"Let me up," Yuuri was saying to Makkachin as he tried to wiggle out from under the dog. "How can you be so sleepy?"

Makkachin whuffed as he settled onto the cushions.

"Silly," Yuuri said fondly. Then he turned to face Viktor. "Why are you by the door?"

Viktor shook his head. His tongue was heavy and still, and he didn't know how to find the words to ask Yuuri to stay.

Yuuri looked at Viktor for a long moment. He had dark circles under his eyes and the scratch on his cheek stood out against his pale skin. He held his right hand to his side, which told Viktor that his bruised wrist still pained him.

All because of Viktor.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri asked, crossing the room to where Viktor stood. "Do you want to go to bed?"

Viktor shrugged, dropping his eyes. His soul ached at the thought of losing Yuuri, but there was no way Yuuri would stay now.

"Hey." Yuuri touched Viktor's cheek, only Viktor wasn't prepared and he flinched back. Yuuri moved back half a step, pulling his hand to his chest. "I'm sorry."

Viktor rubbed his hand over his mouth, wishing he could reach down his throat and claw out the words he knew were bottled up there. He hadn't been truly unable to speak in years now. It made him want to throw up at the helplessness, the _abnormality_.

Yuuri was reaching out to him again. "I know you had a long time when I was gone," Yuuri said as he carefully touched Viktor's arm. This time, Viktor didn't flinch. "I'm sorry."

Viktor shot Yuuri a glare, but there was nothing joking in Yuuri's words. Viktor did not understand. Why was _Yuuri_ apologizing?

"I was thinking, today, what I would do if you were gone for four days," Yuuri said, moving to stand at Viktor's side. "I think I might lose my mind."

Viktor looked down at where Yuuri's hand was on his arm. For months, he had known that one day he would lose Yuuri. Everyone else in his life had turned their backs on Viktor; his father, friends, lovers.

For months, Viktor had tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

And then his mother had arisen early from the lake and nearly killed the one good thing Viktor had in his life.

But somehow, Yuuri came back.

Viktor put his hand over Yuuri's, touching the thin gold band of Yuuri's ring. That ring had been a promise of something Viktor foolishly dreamed of having; a life together, a future, with the man he loved.

After his mother appeared at the rink, Viktor had done everything he could think of to protect Yuuri, and it had not been enough. When he had returned home to find the iron ring placed neatly in the centre of the dresser, Viktor had been consumed with dread. That dread had quickly turned to fear when Yuuri didn't answer his phone. Viktor had traced Yuuri's steps, finding out he had been to the grocery store and left with his purchases.

Then nothing.

In desperation, Viktor called Yakov, in case Yuuri had turned up there, and then Yakov made things worse by calling Yuuri's family.

The last four days had been a nightmare. And sometimes, when Viktor blinked, he wasn't sure if he hadn't fallen asleep and was dreaming Yuuri's return.

That morning, when he woke up to find the bed empty again, he had nearly collapsed. But it hadn't been a dream; Yuuri was in the living room on his computer, wrapped up in his favourite blanket, and he had reacted so normally when Viktor touched him that it had to be real.

If it wasn't real, Viktor never wanted to wake up.

Now, in the quiet on their apartment, Yuuri tentatively put his cheek on Viktor's shoulder. "It's okay," Yuuri whispered.

Viktor bit his lower lip so hard he tasted blood. It wasn't going to be okay; eventually, Yuuri would leave and Viktor would be alone again. But at least Yuuri would be alive. Maybe that was the best Viktor could hope for.

Turning, Viktor wrapped Yuuri up in a hug. Yuuri returned the embrace with vigour, his strong arms around Viktor's back, his head resting on Viktor's shoulder. He was warm and alive and _real_ , and Viktor wished he could live in this moment forever.

Viktor opened his mouth, but it took a few tries for him to say, "You're everything to me."

Yuuri lifted his head to look at Viktor. He was so close, close enough to kiss, but Viktor had never felt so far away. "You're everything to me, too," Yuuri whispered.

"I…" Viktor had to pause to breathe over the weight on his chest. "I would do anything for you."

A wistful smile came over Yuuri's face. "You have."

Viktor felt himself frown.

"You've done everything for me." Yuuri reached up to gently touch Viktor's jaw. "You gave skating back to me. You gave me something to love." His cheeks grew rosy with a blush. "You let me love you."

"Yuuri…"

"You know what I was thinking about last night?" Yuuri went on. "I watched you sleeping, and I thought about how every day, since you became my coach, I know more about you." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But it always felt like you were holding something back."

Viktor tilted his head back to rest against the door. "What did you expect me to do?" he asked, weary beyond belief.

"I don't know." Yuuri put his head back on Viktor's shoulder. He was so warm that Viktor never wanted to let him go. "You can tell me anything you want. I love you."

 _Love._ Viktor held Yuuri against him, the heaviness of exhaustion threatening to push him down. Viktor loved Yuuri with everything he was, and he knew it was never going to be enough.

After a while, Yuuri pulled out of the embrace. "I have to call my parents before it gets too late," he said reluctantly. "I should probably shower first."

Viktor shook his head, pulling himself back to the present. "You should take a hot bath," he said. "Your hip would be better for it, after your fall."

"Okay." Yuuri yawned. "Can I go to bed after that?"

"What about dinner?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Too bad, you need to eat," Viktor said. "You have practice tomorrow, and a world championship to win in a month."

Yuuri sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, undoing his jacket as he headed to the bathroom.

Without thinking, Viktor followed. He only realized what he had done when Yuuri looked up from the tub, a question in his eyes.

"Do you need help?" Viktor asked, feeling awkward. If he had been more on his game, he could have made it seem sexual, but now it felt like an intrusion.

"I'll be able to stay awake, if that's what you're worried about." Yuuri twisted open the taps. "Do you want to stay and talk to me?"

Viktor nodded, more relieved that he could express.

"Okay." Yuuri pulled his shirt over his head. The white mark on his upper arm was still visible against his pale skin, but worse was the livid purple and black bruise on his wrist.

Viktor's stomach churned. Those injuries were his fault. His mother had been the one to hurt Yuuri so, and all because of Viktor.

Yuuri was looking at Viktor as he kicked out of his pants. "You didn't do this to me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the running water. "This wasn't you."

"It was because of me," Viktor replied.

"There's a difference." Yuuri stood straight. He was naked, but there was nothing vulnerable or soft about him in this moment. "You may not see it, but I do."

Viktor looked down.

"Come on," Yuuri said. "Take off your clothes."

Viktor lifted his gaze. He wasn't sure what Yuuri was asking.

"Take off your clothes," Yuuri said again. "Get in the tub with me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Yuuri removed his glasses. His eyes were steady. "I'm going to have a bath, and I want you to join me. If you want to."

 _Want_. Yuuri was all Viktor had ever wanted, would ever want. If this was to be the last time he would share a bath with Yuuri…. In a few brief movements, Viktor stripped. He stepped across the bathroom, getting into the half-full tub. Once he was settled, Yuuri got in, carefully sitting before leaning back against Viktor's chest.

Viktor breathed against Yuuri's hair. This was perfection; the feel of Yuuri's body pressed to his, the heat of the water an embrace around them both. He never wanted this to end.

Yuuri sat up to turn off the taps, then pulled Viktor's arms around his chest. "I wanted to do this all day."

"Do what?" Viktor murmured.

"Be naked with you."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's cheek. "That would have been awkward at the training rink."

Yuuri laughed, his body moving against Viktor's in delightful ways. "Don't say that," Yuuri chided, his cheeks pink as he turned to look up at Viktor. "You know what I mean."

"I do." Viktor brushed a strand of hair out of Yuuri's eyes. All day, he had been too tired to think about sex, but now, skin to skin with Yuuri, desire spread out in his limbs like fire. "Can I kiss you?"

Yuuri's eyes grew wide, his smile fading to something far more intense. "Yes."

So Viktor kissed Yuuri, there in the quiet bathroom with the warmth of the water around them. The kiss was like swimming, like slowly sinking in the lake, protected and safe and _good_.

After a while, Yuuri pulled back. "Can I ask you to do something else?"

Viktor ran his hand down Yuuri's stomach, his skin slick in the water. "What?"

Yuuri let out a ragged breath. "This," he whispered, taking Viktor's hand and moving it lower.

"If you want me to," Viktor said as he curled his fingers against Yuuri's lower belly.

"Please." Yuuri nipped at Viktor's throat. "Please, Viktor."

Viktor let his hand drift down. Yuuri's cock was slightly hard, and Viktor was in a perfect position to grasp him and stroke. Yuuri moaned, relaxing back against Viktor's chest. This let Viktor bring his other hand into play, and he caressed and touched and stoked Yuuri until the man was breathing harshly.

"I think I'm close," he whispered.

Viktor bit softly at Yuuri's neck, making the other man gasp. "Do you want me to keep going?"

"Yes," Yuuri panted. "Please, Viktor, please…"

Viktor quickened his touch, soaking in everything about the moment – the feel of Yuuri's body moving against his, the breathy sounds coming out of his mouth, the scent of his skin and his hair. If he was going to have to give Yuuri up, then he was going to hold what memories he could.

Yuuri pressed his head against Viktor's shoulder, spine arching as he climaxed. Viktor's hands stilled, holding Yuuri still in the water as the man came down from the high. "So beautiful," Viktor mumbled against Yuuri's hair. "My beautiful Yuuri."

Yuuri breathed hard. "Only you," he whispered before rousing himself enough to sit up. "You're the only one who can do this to me."

"Do what?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri turned, going up on his knees to look at Viktor. "Make me feel like this."

Viktor sat forward, touching Yuuri's chest. Even hurt, even exhausted, Yuuri was the most perfect, most beautiful, most alive thing Viktor had ever seen.

"Come on," Yuuri said, reaching down to pull the plug. "Let's go to the bedroom."

"Why?"

Yuuri carefully stepped out of the tub. "I have something I want to show you."

Viktor stood, taking the offered towel from Yuuri to dry off. The activities in the tub had left him half-hard, and he wondered if Yuuri would be up to doing anything to assist with that.

Makkachin, still on the couch, paid the men no mind as they walked through the living room to the bedroom. Yuuri shut the door behind them before leading Viktor to the bed.

"What do you want to show me?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri lay down, reaching over to the bedside table to pull out a condom. "This," he said, rolling onto his back and dropping the condom on his stomach.

Viktor stayed standing. "Are you sure?" he asked, even as he ached to join Yuuri on the bed.

Yuuri's eyes were dark and steady as he looked up at Viktor. "Yes," was all he said, but the invitation became far clearer when he drew one knee up and out.

Oh. Viktor dropped the towel to the ground. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling over Yuuri. The other man looked up at him, considering, then he reached up to pull Viktor into a kiss.

Even though Yuuri had just climaxed, he moved against Viktor with enthusiasm. Viktor fell into the kiss, pressing Yuuri to the mattress, tasting Yuuri, breathing him in. Under him, Yuuri wrapped his legs around Viktor's hips and tried to pull him closer.

Viktor moved back slightly to retrieve the condom. "How do you want this?" he asked as he reached for the bottle of lube.

"As soon as possible," Yuuri said, his eyes bright. "I'm ready, come on."

The naked want in Yuuri's voice drove Viktor to distraction. His hands shook as he unwrapped the condom, and Yuuri had to help him put it on. Yuuri's hands on his cock almost pushed Viktor over the edge. Once the condom was properly rolled down, Viktor caught Yuuri's hands and pushed him carefully onto his back.

"Yuuri," Viktor said, staring down. The man was so beautiful, flushed and gasping under him. "God, I want you."

Yuuri twisted his hips up, legs tightening around Viktor's waist. "I'm right here, Viktor. Please." The last was in a whisper.

Slowly, Viktor let Yuuri's wrists go. He sat back on his heels, looking down at Yuuri beneath him. He wanted Yuuri so badly, he ached, but he was so afraid of what he might see in Yuuri's eyes.

Wrapping a hand around Yuuri's leg, he guided Yuuri onto his side. Once Yuuri realized what Viktor was doing, he turned over, going up on his knees. Viktor put his hand on Yuuri's lower back, pushing until Yuuri relaxed against the mattress. From there it was a quick flip open of the bottle, smoothing the lube over the condom, and Viktor was pushing into Yuuri.

Yuuri's sharp intake of breath softened to a moan as the tip of Viktor's cock eased inside. "Yes," Yuuri breathed, his hands grasping at the bedsheets.

Viktor kept one hand on Yuuri's back as he rolled his hips forward. He knew what Yuuri liked when they did this, how Viktor had to go slow at first to open Yuuri up, and how Yuuri would soon be begging Viktor for more, faster, harder. He had to bite his lip to keep from taking too much, too fast. When he was inside Yuuri like this, it was about making Yuuri feel good.

But oh, Viktor loved this too. He loved how warm and tight Yuuri's body was, how Yuuri rolled his hips back to take Viktor's cock. He loved how flexible Yuuri was, how Yuuri could bend his body to take Viktor inside in so many ways. Even now, Yuuri's legs were sliding down, inviting Viktor in deeper. It was all Viktor could do to hold back from slamming into Yuuri. Not yet.

"Viktor," Yuuri said, reaching one arm back. Viktor bent over Yuuri, kissing his neck. "Viktor, please go faster."

Viktor slowly pushed all the way in, making Yuuri gasp and tense. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me." Yuuri took hold of Viktor's hand and brought it to his lips. Viktor gasped as Yuuri took his thumb into his mouth, tongue swirling hot and fast. "I need you, Viktor, please."

Viktor pressed his cheek against Yuuri's hair. He didn't want to hurt Yuuri but he was tired of holding back. Carefully, in case Yuuri wasn't as ready as he claimed to be, Viktor pulled out, then pushed back in.

Yuuri's moan vibrated down Viktor's entire body. "Again," Yuuri said before taking two of Viktor's fingers into his mouth. He rolled his head to the side to make sure Viktor was watching what he was doing.

A wave of hot need crashed over Viktor. He thrust into Yuuri, over and over. Yuuri moaned with every thrust, sucking hard on Viktor's fingers. Viktor lost himself in the moment, burying himself in Yuuri's body. Yuuri's soft moans were the most erotic thing Viktor had ever heard, the swirl of his tongue around Viktor's fingers more captivating than Viktor could have ever imagined.

He was getting close. Putting his hands around Yuuri's thighs, he pulled them apart even further, making Yuuri yelp at the sudden change in position. "Do you want me to get you off again?" Viktor said in Yuuri's ear before biting the soft skin at the back of his neck.

Yuuri whimpered. "Yes," he breathed.

Viktor went still, then sat up and pulled out. Yuuri turned to protest, but Viktor put his hand on Yuuri's back. "Wait."

Picking up the bottle again, he poured a small stream of the clear liquid over Yuuri's opening. Yuuri shivered under the sensation, but didn't move. Next, Viktor poured some of the liquid onto his palm before putting the bottle aside. With his free hand, Viktor dragged the tip of his cock over Yuuri's opening, to get himself as slick as he could before pushing back into Yuuri with one powerful thrust.

Yuuri's eyes rolled shut, a sharp gasp knocked out of him. Viktor pressed in as deep as he could, reveling once again in Yuuri's warmth, his strength. When he pulled back, Yuuri moved his hips, trying to stay close, which gave Viktor the perfect opportunity to reach down with his slick hand to take hold of Yuuri's cock.

Yuuri's back arched under the double sensations. Viktor was close now, and he wanted to bring Yuuri with him, so he poured everything he had into making love to Yuuri. Every sense was full of Yuuri; his loud moans, the scent of his skin, the warmth of him under Viktor, surrounding Viktor. Yuuri moved quick and steady, meeting Viktor thrust for thrust. Viktor worked his hand on Yuuri's cock, pulling him closer and closer to climax.

Viktor lost himself in the moment. He wanted this to last forever, wanted to be with Yuuri forever. Putting his free hand around Yuuri's throat, he whispered in Yuuri's ear, "I love you."

Yuuri came with a cry, his cock pulsing in Viktor's hand as his body clenched around Viktor. The squeeze pushed Viktor over as he buried himself deep inside Yuuri.

"Oh," Yuuri breathed, sounding surprised. "Wow."

Viktor pressed a kiss against Yuuri's shoulder. "My perfect Yuuri."

"That was…" Yuuri broke off to catch his breath. "Wow."

Slowly, they untangled. The sheets were a mess and it took Viktor two tries to stand up, but he followed Yuuri into the bathroom to clean up.

"I thought about this all day," Yuuri confided in Viktor as they stood under the shower spray. "About you and me."

"This was wonderful," Viktor murmured, letting the warm water wash over his body. "You're wonderful."

"You too." Yuuri scrubbed soap over his abdomen. "Does this count as cardio cross-training?" 

Viktor took the soap from Yuuri and turned him around to wash his back. "If you want to explain to Yakov what we were doing, then yes, you can count it."

Yuuri made a noise of disgust. "Does that mean I still need to go for a run tonight?"

Viktor put the soap down. "No," he said, the real world seeping back into his head. "You need to call your parents and have a good dinner. We can go for a run tomorrow morning, if your hip is better."

Yuuri turned around. "I think we proved that my hip is fine."

"Your flexibility is fine," Viktor corrected. "There may still be strain. You should be careful."

Yuuri shook his head. "Fine." He reached for the shampoo. "Do you want me to make dinner?"

The rest of the shower was taken up with a quiet domestic discussion, which only made Viktor feel worse. When he had fallen in love with Yuuri, all he could think about was skating and making love – he didn't know what else could come from a relationship. But as they had grown closer, Viktor found he craved these quiet talks, about who would make dinner, or walk Makkachin, or any of a million small details of a life together.

Viktor didn't want to let it go.

After their shower, Yuuri dressed and went to skype his parents in the kitchen, while Viktor cleaned up the bedroom. He stripped and remade the bed, going to put the sheets into the washer. He didn't have the energy to clean up the mess the police had made when they tore through the apartment with their warrant. For now, a clean bed for Yuuri to sleep in, that was all Viktor could do.

He could hear voices from the other room. Yuuri had gotten through to his parents, then. It was late at night in Japan, but Viktor could make out both of Yuuri's parents on the call. Staring out the window at the St. Petersburg afternoon, Viktor thought it best if he were to stay out of the conversation. He probably wasn't the Katsukis' favourite person right now.

Going back into the living room, Viktor went to pick Makkachin's leash off the hook. The dog perked up and trotted to Viktor's side. Viktor clipped the leash onto Makkachin's collar, and gave the dog a firm pat. He waited until Yuuri glanced up from his laptop, waved with his phone, and pointed at the door. Yuuri nodded before looking back to the screen.

Viktor was quiet on the way out of the building, Makkachin walking along easily at his side. The sun had not yet set, and the streets were busy with people heading home from work. Viktor blended into the crowds, just another man walking his dog along the river.

Viktor didn't know what he was going to do. Five days ago, he had been so excited for the Worlds, to go both as a competitor and as Yuuri's coach. Now… if Yuuri left him, he certainly wouldn't want to continue with Viktor as his coach. Without Yuuri, Viktor wasn't sure he would have the drive to compete.

But Yuuri had to compete, Viktor decided as he turned down the promenade with Makkachin. Yuuri had blossomed as a skater in the last four months, setting new records, knocking down every challenge set in his way. Viktor was so proud of the work and artistry Yuuri put into his skating; he truly deserved to shine.

If Yuuri stayed with Viktor until after Worlds, Viktor would do everything in his power to coach Yuuri to his best achievements. If not…

Viktor slowed, leaning on the wall to look out over the river. Large chunks of ice were already flowing down towards the sea. It looked peaceful enough, but as a child Viktor had foolishly gone swimming before the ice was off the lake, and had nearly been crushed to death by the floes.

It was then that Viktor learned that there was more danger at the lake than just his mother.

Viktor pulled himself up. If Yuuri left him before Worlds, Viktor would pull on every connection he had in the skating world to make sure Yuuri had an excellent coach. Yakov, for all he was still a legend, had Yurio and Viktor himself to look out for. Celestino had the relationship with Yuuri, but Viktor didn't want Yuuri feeling he had to fit into old patterns. Maybe Chris would know of a coach between skaters.

Viktor turned to head over the bridge in the direction of the fortress. At this time of day, he hoped for a little quiet.

As he expected, the usual daytime crowds had thinned. He let Makkachin walk and explore, pushed along by no more than a desire to avoid the apartment until after Yuuri was done talking to his parents. Whatever good will Viktor may have had with the Katsukis had burned to ash in the days following Yuuri's disappearance. Mari in particular had been vocal in her refusal to believe Viktor's suggestion that Yuuri had gone to visit friends – it was completely outside her brother's nature, Viktor remembered her saying, and even if he had done so, why had he not called them?

Maybe Yuuri could fix things, Viktor thought miserably as he walked over the cobblestones of the old city. Those months he lived in Hatsetsu had been some of the happiest of his life. He had hoped that he and Yuuri could return one day, perhaps for a brief vacation after Yuuri won gold at Worlds.

That would probably not happen, now.

Makkachin stopped to sniff at a clump of grass. Viktor waited, looking out at the river, and wondered.

Perhaps it was surprising, but Viktor had never before hated his mother. He wasn't sure he loved her, but he was fond of her. Even when she had taken Yakov, Viktor had tried to understand why she had done what she did.

Now, however, the terror he had felt when Yuuri was gone was slowly coalescing to a simmering rage. How dare she hurt Yuuri? How could she have tried to take away the one person in Viktor's life worth living for?

 _Why_ had she done it?

With a sudden bark, Makkachin headed for the water gate, pulling Viktor along. They passed a few tourists, but the grounds were quiet.

"What did you see?" Viktor asked Makkachin. "Did you see a squirrel?"

Makkachin barked again. He continued dragging Viktor along, right to the end of the walk where the river lapped at the worn stone steps. When Viktor saw what had attracted Makkachin's attention, he dropped the leash.

It was his mother.

And she was really there, no mirage or imagined presence. She sat on the steps looking out at the river, her feet trailing in the icy water, her ragged clothing plastered wet to her body. In the faint afternoon sun, Viktor was struck, perhaps for the first time, by how extremely young she looked.

 _Dog,_ she observed as Makkachin sniffed at her hair.

 _This is my dog,_ Viktor pointed out as he gathered up Makkachin's leash. _You have met._

His mother splashed her bare feet in the water. _Come swim with me, the water is warm._

Viktor carefully sat on the top step, hoping that his body would shield a casual passerby from his mother's attention. The last thing he needed was to spend his afternoon dragging tourists out of the Neva River. _I told you, I cannot go swimming yet,_ Viktor reminded her. _I have obligations. Same as every spring._

 _You said you had people who were keeping you here._ Her attention, previously on the water, was now focused on Viktor. It was unnerving, seeing that flat blue stare in daylight. _I found him. The man who keeps you._

For the first time in his life, Viktor was suddenly very afraid of his mother. _That is Yuuri,_ he told her. _He does not keep me here. I am the one who makes the decision to stay here._

 _He is a little thief,_ his mother thought, pushing her long wet hair back from her face. _That is what I call him. A little thief._

_He has stolen nothing._

_He stole you from me._ His mother kicked at the water, making it splash. Makkachin yipped. _I thought he stole you away. But he said that he promised you, with a ring._

Viktor held out his hand, letting the afternoon sun catch the gold of his ring. _He did make a promise. As did I._

_What did you promise?_

Viktor let his hand fall. _I promise to love him, as long as he will have me._

His mother's chest heaved in a sigh, water spilling out of her mouth and nose. _He cannot hurt you,_ she cautioned as she slipped down towards the river. _If he hurts you, I will hurt him._

 _He will never hurt me,_ Viktor thought quickly. _Mother, listen to me. Don't hurt him._

 _He is a thief,_ his mother repeated. She lowered herself into the river, until only her eyes were above the water. _If he steals you away, I will eat his liver._

 _Mother,_ Viktor thought wearily. _You do not need to protect me from Yuuri._

She went under for a moment, then she was back, coming out of the water with her hand held out to him. He automatically took the small object from her. _If he hurts you, tell me and I will come._

With that, she vanished under the water.

Viktor let out a slow breath. He hoped that he had made it through to his mother; she had not seemed upset or angry, the way she had been at the arena earlier that week. No, this was just his mother being playfully violent.

She had been that way all of Viktor's life, only now when that violence was aimed at someone Viktor loved, it seemed far more sinister.

Viktor looked down at the object in his hand. It was a small, old fashioned key, discoloured from years of neglect. His mother had given him tiny trinkets before, and just as with them, he had no idea what he was supposed to do with this.

With a sigh, Viktor slipped the key into his jacket pocket. "Come, Makkachin, let us go home," he called. The dog stood up expectantly. "Maybe we can eat some dinner with Yuuri."

They took the short route home. Once inside the elevator, Viktor unclipped Makkachin's leash and gave the dog a good patting, their regular routine on the way up.

The hallway was quiet, and the door opened easily onto a room full of quiet music and the smells of food. Makkachin bounded in with a bark, while Viktor took the time to lock up and hang his jacket on the hook before making his way into the kitchen.

Yuuri was cooking while salsa music played on his laptop. He put the spoon down when Makkachin jumped up on his leg. "Welcome back," Yuuri said, ruffling Makkachin's fur. "Did you have a good walk?"

"We went to the fortress," Viktor said. He didn't want to talk about his mother that night. "How was your talk with your parents?"

Yuuri shook his head as Makkachin jumped down. "I spent most of the time apologizing for something I didn't do. It was not great."

Viktor leaned his shoulder against the wall. He didn't know what to say that could make things any better.

"But it's better this way," Yuuri said, turning back to the stove.

"How can you say that?"

Yuuri was silent for a minute, rolling the sizzling meatballs around in the frying pan. Finally, he said, "If I told them that your mother isn't really human and she… took me, they'd be on the next plane to come get me and put me in a mental hospital. They would think I was crazy."

"You're not crazy," Viktor said.

"I know." Yuuri took the lid off a pot and peered inside. "I don't understand what happened, but I know you. And that's enough for me."

Viktor moved across the kitchen to stand beside Yuuri. The man's dark hair flew around his face in a dishevelled mess, and his glasses had a small smudge in the corner, and he was absolutely beautiful.

"I don't want you to leave," Viktor said.

The words had been under his breath, but Yuuri had heard; he jerked back from the stove, shock on his face. "I'm not leaving," he protested, staring at Viktor. "What are you talking about?"

Viktor hadn't meant to say the words out loud, but maybe it was for the best. If Yuuri was going to leave, better it happen when Viktor was on his feet and ready for it. He took a deep breath. "I said, I don't want you to leave."

"And I said I'm not leaving."

"Yes, you are."

Yuuri dropped the spoon and backed away from Viktor. "What is this?" he demanded, eyes wide. "We have Worlds in a month, I'm not going anywhere!"

"Yuuri." The words stuck in Viktor's throat, but he pressed his hands against the counter to centre himself. He had to keep going. "You're going to leave. Everyone leaves. You should go before you get hurt."

"What are you talking about, everyone leaves?"

Viktor looked down at his hands. "I think…. I was born wrong. People don't…. people don't stay, with me. They leave. Everyone leaves."

"Where did this come from?" Yuuri asked, staring at Viktor. "What happened while you were gone?"

Viktor pushed his hair back, frustrated. His English wasn't adequate for this conversation. "This isn't about today," he said. "It's always been like this. People stay for a while and then they leave. I thought that you might be different, but…" He broke off, trying to swallow the nausea on his tongue. "Then my mother took you and I realized that it's not any different this time. You're going to leave."

Yuuri was still staring at Viktor, his eyes hollow. He stayed motionless for a long moment, then he shook himself back to life and crossed the kitchen in three angry steps, reaching for the frying pan to move it off the heat.

"Is this about your mother?" Yuuri demanded. He was so close that Viktor could reach out and touch him, but he had never felt so far away.

"No, this is about me—"

"At the lake," Yuuri interrupted. "I told her that I would leave if you asked me to go. I told her the reason I was with you was that you wanted me to stay, and that if you asked, if you _ever_ asked, I'd leave." He was breathing hard. "Is that what this is?"

Viktor looked away, hardly able to stand under the crush of grief.

"Viktor!" Yuuri exclaimed. "Are you telling me to go? After everything that's happened?"

"No," Viktor whispered.

"Then what is this?" Yuuri touched Viktor's chin, the gentle gesture at odd with his words. "Viktor, I thought you knew that I love you. I'd do anything to stay with you, always. I thought you wanted that too."

"I do." Viktor wrapped his fingers around Yuuri's arm, feeling the strength in Yuuri's body. "I want you to stay."

"Then what is going on?"

"I love you."

Yuuri lifted Viktor's chin, making Viktor look up at the man. "I know you do. What is going on?"

Viktor took Yuuri's fingers and kissed them, one by one. "Everyone I've ever loved, they leave me. Everyone always leaves me."

With his free hand, Yuuri pushed the hair out of Viktor's eyes. "That's not true."

"Yuuri—"

"Yakov's still here."

Viktor jerked back in surprise. "What?"

"Yakov's still here," Yuuri repeated. His cheeks were pink, but his eyes were steady. "He cares about you. Like a…" Yuuri said something in Japanese, then pulled his hand out of Viktor's to get his phone. He tapped on the keyboard. "Uncle." More tapping. "Another father." He put the phone down. "You said that your mother took Yakov when you were a boy, but he's still here for you."

Viktor sagged back against the counter. "It's not…."

"She took Yakov, and then she took me," Yuuri went on. He took up Viktor's hand again. "And we're both still here for you."

Viktor looked away. His stomach was churning and he didn't know what to say.

"I'll tell you what I want," Yuuri said. He waited until Viktor looked back at him. "I want to win gold at Worlds, and then at next year's Grand Prix Final." He touched Viktor's gold ring. "And then, I'm going to marry you."

Viktor's lips parted, letting out a little sigh.

"And we're going to live together for the rest of our lives," Yuuri continued. "And we're going to skate until we retire, and then we're going to… I don't know, do ice shows and travel all over the world. You can keep coaching and I'll sharpen ice skates for a living. Something. Anything we can do together."

He kissed Viktor's ring, then leaned in to press a feather-light kiss against Viktor's lips.

"That's what I want." He pulled back, but didn't let go of Viktor's hand. "What do you want?"

Viktor looked down at their hands. He could remember that day in Barcelona when Yuuri had given him this ring. He had never felt so alive before, as if his entire body would float up and away into the twilight sky.

With Yuuri, he had started to feel hope and joy for a future he knew he could not have. When his mother had taken Yuuri away, all those dreams had shattered.

But now…

There was a strange feeling in his head, as if something had opened up and was waiting for him to make a choice.

Viktor looked at Yuuri, into brown eyes with shades of ruby and copper. Viktor wanted to stare into those eyes for the rest of his life. "I want all that, too," he said, and Yuuri lit up like the sunrise. "I want to be together, with you, always."

Yuuri flung his arms around Viktor's neck and hugged him so tight Viktor could barely breathe. He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's torso and holding him as close as he could.

"I'm always going to be with you," Yuuri said into Viktor's ear. "Never doubt that. Never doubt me."

"I won't," Viktor promised.

"Good."

The embrace lasted for some minutes, until the pot with the vegetables began to sizzle alarmingly. Yuuri yelped, jerking away to pull the pan off the heat.

"This was supposed to be green," Yuuri said mournfully, lifting up a spoonful of limp, soggy vegetables.

Viktor looked. "The vegetables I ate growing up all looked like that."

Yuuri dropped the spoon. "I'm not eating that. I'll make salad."

Viktor leaned against the counter to watch Yuuri finish making dinner, chatting about his ideas for a program using salsa music the following year. He set the table when asked, then fed Makkachin while Yuuri portioned out the meal. They sat down to eat, and Yuuri was more than happy to carry the conversation for a little while.

As he ate, Viktor thought about all the things he had believed growing up. All his life, he had thought that it was his fault people abandoned him. His father had walked out of his life, as had friends, and the few lovers he had really cared for. When he was younger, Viktor would have given anything of himself to make them stay, have done anything they asked to make them love him again.

But Yuuri didn't ask Viktor to give any of himself away. Yuuri didn't ask Viktor to break himself to fit into the edges of Yuuri's life. Every day, Yuuri reached out for all of Viktor, the sharp edges together with the smooth. And with Viktor he stayed, day after day.

After dinner, they cleaned up, watched a few episodes of television on Yuuri's laptop, then went to bed. Yuuri fell asleep almost immediately after his long day, but Viktor sat up for a while, head resting on his hand as he watched Yuuri sleep.

Loving Yuuri was like swimming in the lake, Viktor decided after a long time. Like being so far in the depths that sunlight was only a faint memory overhead. It surrounded Viktor, inside and out, and even if he didn't know which way to go, the lake would always be there to hold him safe in its arms.

All either of them asked in return was that Viktor open his mouth, and breathe deep.

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm on [tumblr](https://mhalachai.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Undertow by Mhalachai [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505877) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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